


The Hope Anomaly

by esking



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Universe, Canonical Character Death, M/M, Sort Of, Suicide, TW: Suicide, Thomas fights the universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-03-29 03:43:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13918659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esking/pseuds/esking
Summary: They sat in silence in the dark, letting the weight of these words sink in. They were facing almost a lifetime without Newt. For so long, every day had been a fight to survive. Thomas had never stopped to think about aging in the grand sense, of being as old as Vince or Jorge one day. And Newt would never see any of it. He couldn’t stop thinking about those thirty seconds. If he could have just held Newt off for another thirty seconds, held onto him until Minho had come back with the serum…Can't change the shucking past...





	1. almost a lifetime

**Author's Note:**

> This all takes place within the movie canon.

_Newt sprinted for him, eyes blazing, black spittle flying from his mouth. Thomas stumbled backwards and brought up his arms in front of his face. Newt slammed into him with a feral howl, and he and Thomas both went sprawling to the ground._  
“Newt, stop!” Thomas screamed. “It’s me, it’s Thomas! Stop! Newt, please! Newt!”  
  
“Thomas!” cried a voice. “Thomas!”  
  
Newt’s hands closed around Thomas’ throat. His vision was going black. “Newt…”  
  
“Tommy, wake up!” __  
  
Thomas jerked awake, sweat stinging his eyes. He fought against his captor, thrashing back and forth in the hammock.  
  
“Thomas!”  
  
Thomas stilled enough to get a good look at the person who had woken him. Minho’s face peered down at him through the gloom.  
  
Thomas dragged in several ragged gasps. “What – I? Where…?”  
  
“Come on, sit up.” Minho helped Thomas sit up in his hammock until his feet touched the ground. His shoulders heaved with sobs. He felt Minho’s hand on his back, rubbing back and forth. “You good?”  
  
Thomas shook his head. “I can’t get him out of my head,” he whispered. “I can’t… I can’t let him go.”  
  
Minho let out a soft sigh. “I know. Me neither. Maybe we never will.” They sat in silence in the dark, letting the weight of these words sink in. They were facing almost a lifetime without Newt. For so long, every day had been a fight to survive. Thomas had never stopped to think about aging in the grand sense, of being as old as Vince or Jorge one day. And Newt would never see any of it. He couldn’t stop thinking about those thirty seconds. If he could have just held Newt off for another thirty seconds, held onto him until Minho had come back with the serum…  
  
“If I could have…” Thomas trailed off.  
  
“Don’t,” said Minho. “Don’t do that to yourself, Thomas.” After a pause, he asked, “How’s your head?”  
  
Thomas rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully. “Fuzzy. Still can’t remember some stuff, but I know it’s there.”  
  
“The Glade?” Minho prompted.  
  
Thomas shook his head. “I get flashes, bits and pieces. But I can’t tell what’s memory and what’s nightmare.” He dug his fingers into his scalp. “It hurts to think too hard about it.”  
  
“It’ll come back,” said Minho. “Jorge said it wasn’t a bad concussion. You’ll be fine.”  
  
“Maybe,” Thomas mumbled. “Guess it just gives me even more space to remember – to remember that night…”  
  
“ _Don’t _,” Minho pleaded again. He sounded tired. They had some variation of this conversation every night it seemed, but Thomas couldn’t let it go.__  
  
Thomas ignored him. “Thirty more seconds,” he said. “If I’d just – thirty more seconds! If I’d taken the serum with me, or – I could have…” he trailed off. Minho was right.  
  
“It’s not gonna help anybody, dwelling on the past,” said Minho heavily. “Not like we can travel back in time and change what happened. The only way to go is forward.” He patted Thomas on the shoulder once more, then drew his sleeve across his eyes. Minho was one tough bastard, but Thomas knew he must be just as lonely, just as heartbroken.  
  
“Yeah,” he mumbled. He laid back down in his hammock, knowing he would sleep no more tonight. “Can’t change the shucking past.”  
  
Minho padded away, and after a moment Thomas heard the creak of a wooden beam that told him Minho had climbed back into his hammock. They were in Safe Haven, that should be enough. They had saved over a hundred Immunes.  
  
The only way to go was forward.  
  
…  
  
Thomas awoke with a splitting headache. He kept his eyes shut against the searing tropical sun, but it seemed less intense through his eyelids than he was used to. He rolled sideways, trying to pull his blanket up over his head, but it was gone.  
  
Something hard and bulky dug into his side. Thomas reached down, and his fingers met the cool metal of a gun. Thomas’ heart raced. He didn’t sleep with a gun. He was certain of that. It had been his and Vince’s decision to lock all the weapons away once they reached Safe Haven.  
  
“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty.” Somebody kicked Thomas’ leg. _Shit _. Why couldn’t he let go? Why did he have to keep dreaming this moment?__  
  
“Tommy!” Someone kicked his leg again. “You’ve been out all day, come on.”  
  
Thomas kept his eyes closed. Maybe if he ignored the dream it would go away. He pressed his face into his arm and felt tears on his cheeks. That was new. Or maybe not. The details of the dream usually slipped away the moment he awoke, but it probably felt more real while he was still dreaming.  
  
“Tommy, let’s go!” Okay, there was no point fighting it. Clearly the dream was not going to leave him alone. Resigning himself to the worst, Thomas rolled over and looked up at Newt.  
  
He looked sickly and pale, just as Thomas remembered. His eyes were underscored by dark purple shadows, and black veins crept up the side of his neck. Why did he have to see this again?  
  
Newt pursed his lips. “Come on, it’s time to go. Get your bloody uniform on.”  
  
Thomas pulled on the stolen WCKD garb. This was weird, too. Usually, his nightmares cut straight to the fight with Newt, after he’d gone full Crank. Sometimes, just to shake things up, he got to relive watching helplessly as Teresa plummeted into the fire below. But this was new. This felt way too real to just be a concussion-induced nightmare.  
  
Thomas dressed in a daze, fighting his own brain. All his senses told him this was real, the scrape of the Velcro on his arm, the dripping of oil down the wall, the weight of the gun in his hand… But it couldn’t be. He was asleep in Safe Haven right now, surrounded by the surviving Immunes. Newt was dead, Teresa was dead. There was nothing left but to keep moving forward.  
  
Thomas recalled each step of the rescue mission with ease. After all, it was his only solid memory at this point, thanks to the concussion. He marched purposefully through WCKD with Teresa, Newt, and Gally. His heart ached as he ignored Teresa’s protests, knowing that she had been right. If he’d gone with her, if he’d listened and allowed her to draw his blood, they could have saved Newt before he turned. But it was too late now.  
  
They found Minho. Thomas allowed himself to be swept up in the brief moment of triumph, relishing the feeling of hugging his friends before Janson caught them. They hid in the lab, they jumped from the window.  
  
Gally saved them.  
  
Newt collapsed.  
  
Thomas willed himself to wake up. He couldn’t do this again. _Please, God, just let me wake up _. But he didn’t wake up. Thomas carried Newt through the chaos. Smoke choked his lungs. This felt far too real to be a dream, but it had to be. It had to be.__  
  
Newt gave him the necklace with his letter inside. He didn’t have to beg this time because Thomas took it instantly, clinging to the chain. Even if this was a dream, he was going to try to change it. He could save Newt this time.  
  
He dragged Newt onward until they crashed to the ground in the darkened courtyard. This was the end.  
  
“Not again,” Thomas begged out loud. “Please, not this time.”  
  
But Newt was already on his feet. He turned to Thomas with wild, scarlet eyes. He roared and lunged at Thomas. Thomas blocked each blow. He’d relived this fight every single night for the last two weeks – he knew exactly what Newt was going to do.  
  
“KILL ME!” Newt roared. But Thomas wouldn’t, not this time. He knocked the gun from Newt’s hand and tackled him to the ground.  
  
“Just stay still!” Thomas shouted. He had Newt’s wrists pinned. “I can save you, just hold still!” He only had to hold him until Minho made it back.  
  
Newt let out a wild cry and threw Thomas off him with inhuman strength. Thomas’ head smacked hard into the concrete, stunning him. His vision blurred. He tried to roll sideways, but his movements were sluggish and uncoordinated. Newt was coming. He had to get back to his feet, grab the knife and throw it away before Newt could-  
  
Pain like Thomas had never known exploded in his gut. Newt’s face, red and streaked with blood and black goo, filled his vision. Thomas tried to push Newt away, but his arms would not respond to his commands. Newt wrenched something upward, and Thomas saw the knife. The knife he had killed Newt with. But Newt was unharmed. He leaned over Thomas, knife clenched in his hands. It was covered in blood, but whose blood?  
  
“ _T-Tommy? _” Newt whispered. He looked at the knife in his hand and dropped it, trembling all over.__  
  
It hurt to breathe, it hurt to think. The pain in his stomach pushed all other thoughts from Thomas’ mind. The screams and crashes grew more and more distant, as though Thomas were flying away from them.  
  
“Tommy, I…”  
  
For a moment, Thomas thought he saw Minho’s face, terrified and streaked with tears, but he must have imagined it, because then all he saw was black. Finally, the nightmare had released him.  
  
No, he could still hear. He heard Minho sobbing, Newt screaming. This wasn’t his nightmare. As the final drips of consciousness slid away, Thomas understood.  
  
Somehow, somehow, he had gone back. This was real. He’d been given a chance to save Newt, and he’d failed again. If only he could go back earlier, back to the Maze, he could change everything… 


	2. what other precious moments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’d done it. He’d made it back. He could save Newt this time. He could save everyone.

He awoke to an awful clanking, grinding sound, and the ground shuddering beneath him. He rolled into a ball, hand clenched over his aching stomach where Newt had plunged the knife. But there was nothing – no knife, no wound. Newt was gone.  
  
However, as Thomas blinked in the dim light and took in his surroundings, he realized the truth. He was not on the beach. He wasn’t back in the last city. He was in a cage. He was in the Box. Thomas fought back the bile choking his throat. He’d done it. He’d made it back. He could save Newt this time. He could save everyone.  
  
The Box ground to a halt and blinding light assaulted Thomas’ eyes. He could not prepare himself for what came next.  
  
A figure hopped down into the Box, rattling the metal, and a face blocked out the sun. Thomas couldn’t help it. He started to cry, huge ragged sobs wracking his chest.  
  
Newt looked up at the Gladers and said with a laugh, “We’ve got ourselves a crybaby.”  
  
Thomas barely heard the chorus of guffaws. Newt was here. He was real, alive, healthy. Without thinking, Thomas pushed himself to his knees and pulled Newt into a fierce hug.  
  
Newt recoiled, hands flying to Thomas’ shoulders and pushing him back. “Whoa, there, Greenie,” he said. “I’m more than just a pretty face. Let’s get to know each other first.”  
  
Thomas released him, face flushing with embarrassment. “Sorry,” he gasped. “Sorry, I- sorry.” He climbed out of the Box and looked around. The Glade felt smaller than he remembered it, more cramped. The walls were a weak imitation of the leviathan protections surrounding the last city. The Homestead and adjacent cabins looked even more ramshackle than they had the first time.  
  
“Welcome to the Glade,” said another familiar voice.  
  
Thomas turned to see Alby, watching him with a mixture of amusement and anticipation. He wanted to see what Thomas would do next. This was his chance.  
  
“Listen everyone!” Thomas shouted. “I’ve been here before, I know this place. I know how to get out! We have to go now, before WCKD realizes.”  
  
There was another round of laughter, but more subdued this time. The Gladers weren’t expecting that.  
  
Alby frowned and took a step forward. “What the hell are you on about, Greenie?” he demanded in a low voice.  
  
“I’m telling the truth,” said Thomas plaintively. “Alby, you have to believe me.”  
  
Alby seized Thomas’ arm in a pincer-like grip. “How the hell do you know my name?” he snarled.  
  
“I told you!” said Thomas. “I’ve been here before. I know the way out, but we don’t have much time. Please, just come with me now. I can save all of you.”  
  
“This shank is crazy,” said another voice, and Gally appeared at Alby’s shoulder. “Throw him in the Pit until he starts making sense.”  
  
A few boys nodded their agreement.  
  
“No, no you have to listen to me!” Thomas shouted, even as Alby and Gally each grabbed an arm and started dragging him toward the Pit. “Please, I can save you! You’re all going to die in here unless you listen to me!”  
  
But nobody was listening. It was useless. He’d ruined his chance at a first impression. _Fine_ , Thomas thought. _I’ll go by myself_. All he had to do was make it to the lab and give them his blood. Then everyone would be safe.  
  
Thomas allowed Alby and Gally to drag him until they were even with the East Door. Then, without warning, he dropped to the ground, surprising his captors enough to yank his arm out of their grip. Without looking back, Thomas sprinted for the Doors. The Gladers shouted at him, warning him to come stop, but he had too much of a head start and he knew none of them would follow him into the Maze.  
  
Massive walls shot up around him. Thomas’ heart pounded. Would he remember the way? He needn’t have worried. His legs carried him without being told, deeper and deeper into the winding halls. He was going to make it. He had reached the Blades. All he needed now was –  
  
_Shit._  
  
Thomas slowed to a stop, feet scraping in the gravel. He needed a Griever. He needed the locator to get past the walls. How the hell was he going to catch a Griever again? The walls only moved at night. And he didn’t even know where any Grievers were. Thomas kicked a wall in frustration, then cursed, shaking his foot.  
  
“Hey!”  
  
Before Thomas could turn around, something had slammed him face first into the wall. “Who the hell are you?” snarled a voice. Thomas breathed a sigh of relief. Minho.  
  
“It’s cool!” Thomas said quickly. “It’s cool. Hey. I’m Thomas.”  
  
“Okay, Thomas,” said Minho, voice low and angry. His forearm dug into the back of Thomas' neck, pressing his face into the rough stone. “What the hell are you doing in my Maze?”  
  
“It’s complicated!” said Thomas. He splayed his hands against the wall, trying to show Minho he meant no harm. “Please, just let me go and I’ll explain. I know how to get out of the Maze.”  
  
There was a brief pause, then the pressure on Thomas’ back released and he spun around, rubbing his scraped cheek with his hand.  
  
Minho glared at him with intense suspicion. Thomas couldn’t blame him – a stranger running around in the Maze was something to be feared.  
  
“Just listen,” Thomas panted. “This is gonna sound crazy, but I’ve been here before. I’ve escaped the Maze.”  
  
“You’re right,” said Minho. “That _does_ sound crazy. Nobody’s ever escaped the Maze.”  
  
“I have!” Thomas insisted. “With you. I’ve done this all before. And now I’ve been given a chance to change it.”  
  
“Change what?” Minho scoffed.  
  
“Everything!” Thomas pointed in the vague direction of the Glade. “Everyone back there, they’re all gonna die unless you listen to me. Alby, Chuck, Newt-”  
  
His words were cut off by Minho pushing him back against the wall, this time with a roughly hewn knife pressed against his throat.  
  
“Are you threatening them?” he growled, eyes flashing.  
  
“No!” cried Thomas. “I’m trying to save them! Just listen to me for a second.” Minho didn’t remove the knife, but he also didn’t press it harder, which Thomas took as permission to continue. “This is all a test. We’re immune to a virus that’s killing the whole world. WCKD thinks we’re the key to a cure. They _want_ us to escape.”  
  
Minho shook his head and scowled. “You’re gonna have to do better than that, freak. What do you know about Newt?”  
  
The knife pressed harder into Thomas’ neck and he felt a thin trickle of blood slide down to his collar bone. “Come on,” he choked. “Ok, I know he’s your best friend. You’d do anything for him. I know – I know he jumped.”  
  
Minho released him at once, fear drowning out the anger. “What?”  
  
“I know he jumped,” Thomas repeated, massaging his neck. His hand came away stained with blood. “And I know you carried him back to the Glade.”  
  
“We never told anyone that,” said Minho in a hollow voice. “How do you-”  
  
“I know because Newt told me,” Thomas cut in. “He told me right before he died. Please, you have to believe me. Everyone in that Glade is going to die – Newt is going to die - unless you help me.”  
  
Minho took another step back, watching Thomas. Thomas could tell he was turning Thomas’ words over and over in his mind, weighing the consequences of his next move.  
  
“You’re crazy, freak,” he decided. After another pause, he said, “But maybe crazy’s what we need right now.”  
  
Thomas nearly collapsed with relief. Minho believed him. That was the first step. Maybe he really could save everyone.  
  
“Thanks,” he breathed. “Okay, here’s what we need to do.” He told the story, trying to recall every single detail of the terrifying night he and Minho had spent in the Maze –  
  
“Hold up,” said Minho. “You want us to stay _overnight_ in the Maze?”  
  
“We can do it,” Thomas said. “I’ve done it before. We need to crush the Griever between the walls to get the key to open the gate.”  
  
Minho puffed out his cheeks and blew air out in a low whistle. “I don’t like it.”  
  
“I know,” said Thomas. _You didn’t like it last time either, but it worked,_ he wanted to say, but he bit back the words. He didn’t need Minho to think he was any crazier than he already did. “But it’s the only way. Come on,” he turned to lead the way back into the Maze, “let’s-”  
  
Thomas’ head exploded, and the world vanished.  
  
…  
  
In the back of his aching head, Thomas wondered just how many times a human could be knocked out before suffering permanent brain damage. Eh, he decided, it couldn’t be much worse than whatever WCKD had done to him – or _would do_ to him.  
  
He was dimly aware of his feet scraping along the ground, of cords binding his wrists, muffled voices. He knew he had something very important to do, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember what. All his memories were a jumbled mess. He was in the Maze. He’d escaped the Maze. He was in the Maze. Had he gone back?  
  
“ _Well what do you want me to do about it?_ ” snapped a familiar voice, and Thomas’ memory returned to him like a freight train smashing through his mind.  
  
The last city – Teresa – Gally – Paige – Newt. Newt. He knew what he would see before he opened his eyes, but that didn’t make the sight of the Pit anymore welcoming. He was back in the Maze, at the beginning of all of this. He’d been given another chance to make things right.  
  
“ _Fine_ ,” grumbled the same voice again. “But you back off. We don’t need another concussion on our hands, or have you forgotten that our doctors are just the slintheads who know where the band-aids are?”  
  
Thomas forced himself to look up, knowing exactly who he would see. Still, the sight of Newt, healthy and strong, punched all the air from his chest.  
  
“All right?” said Newt, settling his arm on the wooden bars of the Pit and resting his chin on his wrist. “How’s your head?”  
  
Thomas rubbed it and winced. “Ow?” he managed.  
  
“Yeah.” Newt chuckled. The sound nearly brought Thomas to tears again. Newt was here. He was alive, he was okay, untouched by the Flare, untouched by the maddening hopelessness of the Scorch. Well, Thomas amended, not totally untouched. He could tell Newt was leaning on his good leg, keeping most of his weight off the badly healed ankle.  
  
“So, you’re the new madman,” Newt continued, amusement in his voice. “Not sure we needed another one of those, but here you are.”  
  
Thomas took a deep, steadying breath. Minho thought he was crazy, which meant the rest of the Glade probably did too. He had to rein himself in, only tell part of the story.  
  
“Look,” he said. “I know it sounds crazy.”  
  
Newt snickered. “Nah, just a normal day in the Glade. Stranger shows up in the Box, screams about everybody dying, sprints towards certain death? Nothing out of the ordinary.” He paused, waiting for Thomas to laugh, but was met only with silence.  
  
“Newt,” Thomas said. His head throbbed. He had killed Newt. He had held Newt’s body in his arms and screamed until he couldn’t breathe. And somehow he was here, in front of him. No matter how many times he told himself this was real, he knew he was still waiting for Minho – his Minho – to shake him awake, drag him onto the beach for some fresh air, and tell him it was all a dream.  
  
“But it’s not just that,” Newt added. “Minho told me what you said when you smacked into him in the Maze.” His eyes narrowed, all trace of a smile gone. “He said you knew I – you knew how I hurt my leg.” His fingers brushed against his ankle. “So you do know something. I’d sure like to find out _how_ you know, and I’d sure like you to stop lying. So if you spout some klunk about coming from the future, I’ll have no choice but to throw you down the Box Hole.” After a dramatic pause, he said, “There’s only room from one madman in the Glade.”  
  
Thomas clenched his teeth, thinking hard. It hurt to think, and he wasn’t entirely sure that what he was thinking would even make sense when he said it out loud.  
  
“Okay, fine,” he said. “I’m with WCKD. I work for them. They sent me in as part of the experiment, and they didn’t take my memories. It’s all part of their master plan. My purpose is to lead you all out of the Maze.”  
  
Newt nodded. “Fine. Where does all this certain death business come in?”  
  
_I killed you!_ Thomas wanted to scream. _I saw you die, I held you in my arms. If I’d kept the serum – if I’d held you off for thirty more seconds – if, if, if…_ Newt wouldn’t believe him. Newt wouldn’t believe any of it.  
  
“It’s a warzone out there,” he said. “Everyone is going to die. There are militant insurgents out there planning to storm this place and blow it up.”  
Newt shrugged. “More power to ‘em.”  
  
Thomas gaped at him, stunned. Did Newt really not care? Was he willing to sit back and let all the Gladers die?  
  
“Didn’t you hear me!” Thomas sputtered. “They’re going to torture and kill us. They’re gonna suck our brains out through straws, and all of it will be for nothing!”  
  
Without warning, Newt stuck his face so close to the bars that he and Thomas were almost nose to nose. Thomas experienced dizzying déjà vu of Newt, infected and furious, slamming him against the wall at Lawrence’s. _Don’t lie to me!_ he’d screamed. But the Newt before Thomas lacked the mad fire. He didn’t seem angry at all, just sad. Tired.  
  
“Do you expect me to care about the bastards who threw us in here?” Newt said in a low voice. “Do you think I give a damn about a bloody _experiment?_ ” He gestured around at the Glade. “If this is the last of humanity, they deserve to burn.”  
  
“I know!” cried Thomas. “They’re wrong, they always have been. But I’m the only one who can stop them. I’m the only one who can give them the cure. And I can’t do that from in here. Please. You need to let me go. If I can get out of the Maze and into the lab, I can give them the cure, and everyone will be free. Please, Newt.”  
  
Newt watched Thomas. As gut-wrenching as it was to see his friend looking at him with such pure suspicion and dislike, Thomas couldn’t stop himself from staring, from drinking in every last detail of Newt. The way his hair fluttered in the breeze, the way his right eye blinked a millisecond before his left, the way he bit the inside of his lip when he was thinking hard. How had Thomas missed these before? What other precious moments had he ignored and let slip away?  
  
“You work for them, the people who put us in here,” said Newt after a long silence.  
  
Thomas nodded slowly.  
  
“Why should I believe you’d do anything to help us?”  
  
_Because I can’t lose you again!_ Thomas wanted to scream. _Because I’m in love with you and I couldn’t save you and it’s not fair!_ Thomas blinked. He hadn’t even said it out loud. But he’d thought it. And it was true, wasn’t it? Newt was his best friend, the one who’d been at his side through this entire nightmare. Whenever he walked into a room, the light would glow a little brighter, the pressure on Thomas’ chest would lessen slightly. Was he in love with Newt? He knew the answer before he even finished the question. Yes, yes of course he was. Hadn’t he been the whole time?  
  
“I thought I could save the world,” Thomas whispered. “But now all I want to do is save you. If I can do that, it’ll be enough. It has to be.”  
  
These words drew a hollow chuckle from Newt. “Save me?” he repeated. “You really are a madman. Who on this godforsaken planet would want to save a freak cripple like me?”  
  
Thomas stared. How could Newt be saying these things? Even when all hope seemed lost, when they were lost in the Scorch with no food, no water, no direction… even then, Newt had been the one to keep Thomas going. Newt had been the only one with any hope at all. How could this be the same person Thomas had known?  
  
The answer hit Thomas with the force of a lightning bolt. The words from Newt’s letter rang in his ears: _From the moment you ran into the Maze, I knew I would follow you anywhere…_  
  
Thomas hadn’t saved Newt’s friends from the Maze yet. He hadn’t proven the impossible, or given the Gladers a reason to hope for change, like he did last time. He was just a crazy kid who wouldn’t shut up. This Newt before him had no hope, and whatever thread was tethering him to life was fraying with every passing moment.  
  
The sun was just slipping beneath the top of the West Door. Thomas was running out of time. He had only one option left.  
  
“They never took my memories,” he lied. “I know all of you. We’ve known each other since we were children. We’re best friends.”  
  
Newt scoffed, but said nothing.  
  
“Please, you have to believe me. You were – you’re the best friend I’ve ever had. And I’m not going to let you die.”  
  
Newt raised an eyebrow. “You’ve done a bang-up job on that front.”  
  
Thomas fell silent. He’d never really thought about it until now. Where had he been he when Newt jumped? Was he in the lab, doing brain teasers and taking blood samples from children? Was he in the control room, watching the monitors? Did he see Newt go into the Maze, climb the wall? What had he done?  
  
“I can’t change what’s already happened,” Thomas said. “But I can change what’s coming. Let me out, and I promise I will get you out of here.”  
  
Newt considered Thomas’ words, biting the inside of his lip.  
  
_Please,_ Thomas prayed silently. _Please, let me just get them out of here. I’ll earn his trust later. Please let me save him._  
  
At last, Newt said, “Eh, I could use a change of scenery.” He reached over to unlock the Pit’s door. “Send me a postcard from this fabled wasteland.” Leaning down, Newt offered a hand and pulled Thomas up and out of the Pit. Thomas held on even after he’d regained his balance, and looked Newt in the eyes. There was no recognition there, no fondness or friendship. It was like looking at a stranger.  
  
“I’m coming back,” Thomas promised.  
  
Newt only scoffed and withdrew his hand.  
  
Once outside of the Pit, Thomas got a better look at the Glade. The sun had vanished behind the walls but the Doors were still open. Thomas swallowed, steeling himself. He was going to make it. He had to. He ran.  
  
Distant shouts echoed after him, but he was already through the Doors. The moment he passed through, the light dimmed, throwing him into shadow. He paused, turning halfway around to look back at the Glade. Newt watched him, his face passive. Alby was running toward him, but he skidded to a halt at the threshold, as Thomas had known he would. Gally and Minho joined him a second later, and finally Chuck.  
  
“I’m going to save you,” Thomas said, more to himself than to them. “I can do this.” The ground shuddered and the harsh grinding of the Maze rent the air. Now was his chance. Thomas turned and ran into the Maze.  
  
The sky grew dark above him, soaking the ground in shadow. Thomas tripped on a root and went sprawling to the ground. He coughed and rubbed his chest. Doubts gnawed at his mind. What if he couldn’t find a Griever? What if the walls crushed the key inside the Griever? What if WCKD didn’t believe him when he said he had the cure? What if the cure didn’t work? Thomas shook his head. He didn’t have time for the those worries. All he could do was find the Griever and hope.  
  
He needn’t have worried. After only a few minutes, a screech echoed off the walls, growing louder by the second.  
  
“HEY!” Thomas bellowed. “Over here!”  
  
A moment later, a Griever hurtled around the corner in all its slimy, knife-y glory. Thomas’ stomach clenched. Maybe this hadn’t been the greatest idea. Well, it was too late to doubt himself now.  
  
Thomas ran. He sprinted faster than he’d ever run in his life, sliding around corners, legs carrying him so fast he felt like he was flying. The walls ground around him. He was so close, so close to the closing section.  
  
_“Come on!”_ he screamed, to himself or to the Griever he didn’t know. “Come on!” He could see the wall in front of him scraping sideways – he was going to make it!  
  
Thomas’ ankle twisted beneath him with a loud _crunch!_ He smacked into the ground and immediately tried to scramble back up, but his leg wouldn’t support his weight. He turned just in time to see the Griever’s massive body glinting in the moonlight.


	3. to weave in the bits and pieces of truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas tries unsuccessfully to chill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: graphic violence

He realized where he was before he opened his eyes, but it still felt like a punch to the gut as Thomas took in the Box once again. He was back. He had another chance. He tried to push away the despair, and focus on the hope, but it didn’t work. He was trapped in the Maze – again. Again and again and again. Whatever the world was trying to make him do, he wasn’t doing it right.  
  
Thomas stayed where he was when the top of the Box lifted up to reveal the Gladers. He took huge gulping breaths, forcing himself to calm down and think. They hadn’t liked him screaming at them like a crazy prophet. He had to be chill this time.  
  
Once again, Newt jumped down to greet him. Instinctively, Thomas’ arm shot out to support him as his bad leg buckled a little from the jump. Newt grabbed Thomas’ arm, then looked at Thomas, confused.  
  
“Thanks,” he said, watching Thomas with suspicion. He pulled Thomas to his feet and looked up at the assembled Gladers.  
  
“Welcome to hell, Shank!” somebody called, and laughter rose up from the group, breaking the tense silence.  
  
Alby leaned down to help Thomas and Newt out of the Box. Alby also seemed slightly off-put by Thomas’ calm. _You just woke up with no memories surrounded by strangers_ , Thomas chided himself. _You’re supposed to be freaking out!_  
  
“Where am I?” he tried. The stammer in his voice was real, but he couldn’t drag his eyes away from Newt’s face. Every time he woke up Newt looked younger, healthier – happier. How could this even be the same person who had tried to slash him with a dagger?  
  
Alby started explaining the Glade, leading them away from the Box, but Thomas was barely listening. He cast his eyes around left and right. He saw Winston, Jeff, Zart – so many faces he’d all but forgotten. It felt like a lifetime since he’d last seen them. He’d just been here, but too preoccupied with escaping to remember why. How many people he was trying to save.  
  
“Alright, Alby?” Newt limped over to them, grinning.  
  
Alby smiled at him. “Green Bean, meet Newt. He’s in charge when I’m not around.”  
  
Newt kept his eyes on Alby as he shook Thomas’ hand. “We’ve met.”  
  
Alby gave Thomas an odd look, flicking his eyes down to Thomas’ hand, which was still holding tight to Newt’s.  
  
“Sorry!” Thomas withdrew his hand and shoved it in his pocket. “So, um…” he cast around wildly for a question to ask, but his mind was blank. He had to change things. He had to – what? Last time the Griever had gotten him. He needed to be faster in the Maze.  
  
Newt looked to Thomas. “You probably have a million questions right now, Greenie. It’s okay, happens to all of us.”  
  
Thomas _did_ have questions, but none that Newt could answer. He needed time alone, time to think. He needed a plan.  
  
“Can I just… can I just have a minute?” he asked.  
  
Alby nodded, understanding. “Take your time. Grub’s at sundown. Grab whatever grass looks comfiest.” He patted Newt on the back and the two of them took off across the Glade, off to take care of all the other things they needed to worry about in the life they’d built.  
  
Thomas laid down in the grass and shut his eyes, trying to slow his mind enough to focus on one thing at a time. What did he know? He was back in the Glade, at the beginning of this whole nightmare. Newt was alive, Alby was alive, Chuck was alive. Nobody would believe him if he said he was from the future, but they might believe him if he said he still had his memories.  
  
A memory surfaced in his mind, of Newt’s suspicious scowl. _Why should I believe you’d do anything to help us?_ He couldn’t tell them he was with WCKD. Thomas’ mind raced through possible lies. Could he tell them they just hadn’t wiped his memories well enough? That he’d had a dream that felt so real it must be a memory? Even to Thomas, the lies felt feeble.  
  
The Changing. Boys who went through the Changing remembered bits and pieces of the past. Maybe he could fake getting stung by a Griever and say that he remembered the exit.  
  
But even if he did convince them, there was the issue of getting them all safely through the Maze to the door. Would it be enough to make more weapons? Thomas could try to scout ahead and lead them on routes clear of Grievers. He didn’t really have another option.  
  
Thomas watched the boys scattered across the Glade. Most of them were strong from months or years of physical labor, but they weren’t fighters. The Griever attack on the Glade had cost at least a dozen lives. Thomas knew he couldn’t wait until WCKD broke the doors again.  
  
The memory of the Griever bearing down on him sent shivers up his spine. He was no match against it alone, but with more weapons and more guys, they could hold their own against a Griever in the Maze.  
  
It was decided, then. Tomorrow, Thomas would find a way to convince the Gladers that he’d been stung and regained his memories. Then he could show them all the way out of the Maze. Feeling slightly better, he tried to relax and fall asleep.  
  
Before more than a minute had passed, somebody kicked Thomas in the side and he jerked away, sitting up. “Hey!”  
  
Newt stood over him, torch in one hand. “Follow me,” he said, and limped away, not waiting to see if Thomas was coming.  
  
Newt kept walking until they were several meters into the forest, surrounded only by the rustling of leaves and the chirping of night birds.  
  
“Who are you?” Newt asked.  
  
“Thomas,” said Thomas reflexively.  
  
“You remember your name already?”  
  
Thomas mentally kicked himself. He wasn’t supposed to know that yet. “I…uh… yeah, yeah I guess I do.”  
  
Newt nodded. The orange flames danced over his face, making his eyes look dark and wild. “Okay, Tommy.”  
  
Thomas’ heart leapt into his throat.  
  
“We can dance around the matter all night,” Newt continued, his voice brusque and businesslike. “Or we can just get straight to the truth.”  
  
“I, uh, what do you mean?” Thomas winced. He sounded like a dumbass.  
  
Newt scoffed. “I’m not an idiot. Every single Greenie that’s ever come up in that Box has woken up sobbing, or retching, or screaming. But you… you just looked at me like you’ve known me for years. You caught me when I landed on my bad leg. And you walk around the Glade like you know exactly where you’re going.”  
  
The torched crackled in the silence, lighting Newt’s eyes a dark orange. For just a moment, he looked exactly like the Crank Thomas had killed – or the Crank that had killed Thomas.  
  
Thomas waited, but Newt seemed to be done talking. “What are you trying to say?” he asked.  
  
“Oh, come on,” said Newt. “Are you gonna make me spell it out?”  
  
“I don’t know what you’re-”  
  
“You still have your memories, don’t you!” Newt cried. “You know exactly where and who we are. It’s the only explanation.”  
  
Thomas gaped for a moment. Maybe his crazy plan would work after all. “I… yeah, I do. I remember everything.”  
  
Newt let out a delighted laugh. “Well, let’s have it then! What the hell is going on!?” He sat down on a fallen log and patted the space beside him. Thomas sat as well.  
  
“I didn’t think anyone would believe me,” he said, unable to keep the sheer relief from his voice. Sitting here, next to Newt, he could almost believe they were back to normal.  
  
Newt watched him expectantly. “Well? Go on, what’s this all about?”  
  
Thomas told him everything he knew, about WCKD, about the trials, the Flare, everything. Newt listened intently, never looking away. When Thomas had finished, Newt let out a deep sigh.  
  
“That’s about the maddest story I’ve ever heard,” he said. “But it fits. It all fits, doesn’t it.”  
  
Thomas felt tears of relief sting his eyes. Newt believed him. Newt trusted him. He was going to get them out and everything was going to be okay.  
  
“And you and me…” Newt began. Thomas blinked.  
  
“You and me what?” Did Newt know? How could he know?  
  
Newt ducked his head, suddenly blushing. “Forget it,” he mumbled. “Just… the way you looked at me this morning, I thought maybe – maybe we’d been close before or something.”  
  
Thomas felt as though his heart was shattering into a million pieces. He couldn’t lie like this. He had no idea if he and Newt had been close before the Maze. Thomas had fallen in love somewhere along the terrifying journey to escape from WCKD. He couldn’t pick a precise moment, but it was whenever he realized that, no matter what, whenever he turned around Newt would be there.  
  
Thomas rested his hand on top of Newt’s. Butterflies burst in his stomach, and in that single moment, everything was okay.  
  
“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I guess we were.”  
  
Newt flashed him a shy smile. “Brilliant.”  
  
They spent the rest of the night talking, Newt telling Thomas funny stories about the Glade, Thomas trying to weave in the bits and pieces of truth that he’d learned about WCKD, guilt gnawing at his stomach the whole time. The talk eventually turned to a plan. Thomas told Newt he’d memorized the Maze – and it wasn’t a total lie. Just like last time, the problem came when Thomas explained how to open the last door.  
  
“Hold on,” Newt cut in. “Did you say we have to _kill_ a _Griever_?!”  
  
“I know how to do it,” Thomas insisted.  
  
“I don’t care if you invented the damn things yourself,” said Newt. “You can’t kill a bloody Griever!”  
  
“I can do it!” said Thomas. “I swear I can. You just have to trust me.”  
  
He expected Newt to argue more, but Newt fell silent. He watched Thomas, the flame of the torch glinting in his eyes.  
  
“Okay, Tommy,” he said, “I trust you.”  
  
…  
  
It was easier than Thomas anticipated to convince the rest of the Gladers of their plan. Thomas had always known, but the next morning he saw all the evidence he’d ever needed of the esteem Newt held in the Glade. At his request, Alby called a Gathering without question. The Gladers sat in respectful silence while Newt explained his and Thomas’ conversation. At the end, Newt said, “I call for a vote. I move that we pack up all the food and weapons we can carry and make a break for it today.”  
  
Thomas waited for someone, probably Gally, to protest. No one did. Gally was looking at Thomas with something akin to respect, and Thomas was reminded that, as far as Gally knew right now, he hadn’t done anything suspicious yet.  
  
“Aye,” said Gally, standing up. “If Newt’s in, I’m in.”  
  
Minho stepped forward too. “Ditto.”  
  
One by one the rest of the Keepers echoed their assent. Alby nodded. “Okay,” he said, looking around at the assembled boys. “Report to your Keeper for individual assignments. Then we’re getting out of here!”  
  
A cheer rose up, and the Gladers filed out, orderly and full of purpose. Thomas’ heart swelled. They were going to make it.  
  
…  
  
Thirty Gladers jogged with purpose through the Maze. Thomas led the way with Alby at his side, casting glances back to make sure the group was still together. The other Runners flanked their sides, with Minho bringing up the rear. Thomas cast occasional glances back and felt his heart flutter a little every time he caught a glimpse of Chuck or Newt. They were near the center of the group, protected on all sides. The Gladers knew how to protect their own. A nagging voice at the back of Thomas’ head wondered if the Gladers would have protected him the same way, before he’d messed everything up and forced them to turn on each other.  
  
They took a short rest for water and food, but the boys were eager to keep moving. They seemed nearly as confident as Thomas felt. The dimmed sun hung directly overhead when Thomas slowed to a stop, looking up at the monolith in front of him. And to the left. And the right. They were in a dead end.  
  
Alby turned to look at him. “Where now?” he panted. Sweat beaded his forehead and ran down the sides of his face.  
  
Thomas craned his neck as far back as it would go. He could just barely make out the top of the wall, scattered with loose ivy that partially obscured the bold number **7**. Awful realization dawned on Thomas, stealing his breath. Seven was closed. He’d taken them to the wrong place.  
  
“Shit!” Thomas hissed.  
  
“What!” Alby whispered, just as quiet. Thomas appreciated his tact – there was no need to scare the other Gladers just yet.  
  
“It’s okay,” said Thomas in a low voice to Alby. “I took us to the wrong section, but it’s okay. We just need to find the open section.”  
  
Alby nodded, his expression tense but not angry. Together he and Thomas pushed through the Gladers to where Minho stood at the very back. Newt had fallen to the back of the group, and now sat on the grassy floor, massaging his ankle.  
  
“Min,” said Alby. He touched Minho’s arm and led him a few steps away from Newt and the other Gladers.  
  
“What’s wrong?” Minho asked.  
  
“Nothing’s wrong,” Alby said quickly. “Which section is open today?”  
  
Minho thought for a moment. “Three.”  
  
Alby nodded. “How long would it take us to get there?”  
  
Minho scoffed. “Are you serious!”  
  
“ _How long_ ,” Alby repeated.  
  
Minho tossed his hands up in the air. “Four hours!” he cried. “More like six with all these shanks in tow. It’s clear on the other side of the Maze.”  
  
Thomas’ heart sank. All was not lost, but they’d have to go back to the Glade and wait until tomorrow to escape. He’d lost the benefit of the doubt. Who could say if Alby would trust him as easily after this.  
  
“Shit,” was all he said aloud.  
  
Alby and Minho turned to him again. “You’re absolutely certain you know the way out?” Alby asked.  
  
“Positive,” said Thomas. “We can try again tomorrow. I’m getting us out of here.”  
  
After a moment’s consideration, Alby nodded. “Okay. We’ll try again tomorrow.” He patted Minho’s arm. “Let’s get them home.” He jogged back to the group and raised his voice to a shout. “All right, shanks, good trial run. We’re heading back to the Glade.”  
  
Instantly, a chorus of groans and protests rose up.  
  
“Seriously!”  
  
“What!?”  
  
“We came all this way to turn around?”  
  
“Hey!” Alby shouted. “Can it, slintheads! I say we’re going, we’re going. Look alive and keep up.” Without another word, he turned and ran back towards the rest of the Maze, but he didn’t get very far. Before he’d even reached the first intersection, a horrible screeching halted him in his tracks.  
  
Alby had just enough time to look back at the Gladers in horror before a giant silver claw snaked around the corner and seized him around the middle. Everything seemed to freeze – Thomas saw the claw, Alby’s face, the silver arm – and then Alby was gone. The Gladers erupted into chaos.  
  
“STAY TOGETHER!” Thomas bellowed as loud as he could. “Guys with weapons on me!” He raised the short spear he’d been carrying since they’d left the Glade. Minho was first to his side, then Newt, Jeff, Winston, and Fry Pan. A grim voice in Thomas’ head supplied, _Just like old times._  
  
The Griever rounded the corner, a mountain of frothing slime, its knife-like arms spinning every which way.  
  
“Okay, we got this, guys!” Thomas shouted, wondering if he’d ever sounded less sure in his life. Last time they’d had the benefit of the wide-open Glade, or the crushing weight of the doors in the Maze. This time they were backed into a tight corner, trying to protect all the Gladers.  
  
Thomas lunged for the Griever’s slimy underbelly, thrusting upward with his spear. He connected, but just barely. Goop sprayed in his eyes, blinding him momentarily. When he regained his senses, the rest of the Gladers had struck. The Griever howled with rage as attacks came from seven directions at once, Gladers slashing at its legs with every fiber of strength they possessed.  
  
Winston connected with a massive cleaver and sliced one of the Griever’s arms clean off, sending it skittering across the ground. Heartened, Jeff took advantage of the now defenseless flank to plunge his pitchfork deep into the flesh of the Griever’s side.  
  
The Griever let out a deafening screech and threw itself sideways against the wall and taking Jeff and Winston with it.  
  
In its moment of distraction, Newt darted forward, aiming his spear at the Griever’s underbelly. Before he could connect, however, a slimy metal arm shot out from the Griever’s side and punched hard into Newt’s stomach.  
  
Newt flew backward and hit the ivy-tangled wall, where he lay motionless. Thomas scrambled to his side and grabbed his shoulder. Newt’s stomach was a mess of blood and Griever slime, and his head rolled limply before he managed to focus on Thomas.  
  
No, no, no, no, this was all wrong. Newt had to survive. This was all for nothing if Newt died now.  
  
“Newt!” Thomas cried, suddenly deaf to the chaos behind him. “No, no, no, come on, you’re okay.”  
  
“Get them out.” Newt coughed, and blood spilled from his mouth. His hand was still clasped around the spear, his arm draped with fraying ivy that had come loose when he fell. He tried to lift the spear but couldn’t get it off the ground.  
  
Understanding, Thomas took the spear.  
  
“I’m coming back,” he said as he jumped to his feet and sprinted back into the fray. Minho, Gally, and Fry Pan had the Griever in a triangle, trying to confuse it with alternating attacks. It wouldn’t see Thomas coming.  
  
When only three feet separated him from the Griever, Thomas leapt with all his might. He sailed through the air and collided with the monster’s backside. It howled and spun, trying to throw Thomas off, but Thomas dug in his spear and held on for dear life. When the Griever slowed, he seized his chance, dragging out the spear and plunging it in the Griever’s back again, and again, and again.  
  
The screams echoed off the walls of the Glade, louder than anything Thomas had ever heard, but he didn’t stop, just stabbed and stabbed. He couldn’t feel his arms, but they kept moving, kept stabbing. He was utterly blind, his face covered in blood and sweat and Griever slime.  
  
After what might have been a second or an hour, the Griever fell still. With a creaking groan, its legs gave out, dropping to the ground and rolling sideways. Even if he’d been able to move, Thomas couldn’t have gotten out of the way in time.  
  
The Griever’s full weight crushed him. His ribs cracked but when he opened his mouth to scream, he could make only a muffled groan. Goop and blood filled his mouth, drowning him. All he had to do was die, then he could try again. But he was trapped, alive and in agony.  
  
“HELP!” he tried to scream. He choked on blood and felt bile rise in his throat. He was going to die slowly and painfully, crushed under this Griever. Thomas closed his eyes.  
  
The release of pressure was even worse than the initial injury. Thomas’ entire body exploded in agony as the Griever rolled, an inch at a time, off of him. He heard shouts and panting, and a distant voice saying, “Come on, keep pushing, keep going!”  
  
Sunlight pressed against Thomas’ eyelids, but he kept them squeezed shut. He was still alive. How the hell was he still alive? He sucked in a ragged breath and let out a sob. His chest felt like it was being stabbed by a thousand knives, and he knew without looking that every single one of his ribs was shattered.  
  
“Thomas!” said a voice.  
  
Thomas forced his eyes open to see Minho, filthy and blood-stained, but alive.  
  
“Dude, that was so badass,” said Minho hoarsely. “You eviscerated that thing!”  
  
Thomas could hardly breathe. He couldn’t move a single part of his body. He felt only pain.  
  
“Newt,” he rasped. “Where’s…Newt?”  
  
Minho looked over his shoulder and his face fell. Thomas didn’t need to be able to see to know what that look meant.  
  
Tears streamed down Thomas’ face, from the knowledge of his failure more than from the pain. “Kill me,” he croaked.  
  
Minho turned back to him, looking sick. “Thomas, I can’t-”  
  
“Please, Minho,” Thomas begged. “Please.”  
  
It took barely a second for Minho decide. He raised the short dagger that was still in his hand and pressed it to Thomas’ throat.  
  
“See you around, Greenie.”


	4. pinky swear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for a new plan.

Thomas awoke gasping and sobbing, hands clenched over his stomach. His entire body ached, but his lungs no longer felt as though they were filled with knives. Running his hands up and down his chest he found his ribs intact. Thomas fought to slow his breathing and look around. He was in the Box. Again. His head hurt so bad he could barely think. Memories washed over him – the Glade, Newt, the Maze, the Griever crushing his friends. He’d failed, again.  
  
Thomas took deep gulps of air. He had to think of a new plan. He couldn’t risk anymore lives. He knew that seeing Newt die again would kill him for good. No, he had to do this by himself. He had to get into the Maze, kill the Griever, get into the lab, and convince them to take his blood, vivisect him if they had to. He wasn’t killing anyone else.  
  
The Box clattered to a halt. Thomas fought the urge to curl himself into a ball and hide. That wouldn’t help anyone. He forced himself to sit up straight and look up into the blinding sun.  
  
Gladers huddled around the edge of the Box, talking and laughing. He spotted Newt, Chuck, Alby, Gally. Their faces didn’t give Thomas quite the jolt they had last time – maybe he was getting used to seeing his dead friends come back to life.  
  
This time Gally jumped into the Box.  
  
“Day one, Greenie.”  
  
“You have no idea,” Thomas grumbled. He allowed Gally to pull him to his feet and hoist him out of the Box. Gladers mobbed him, poking, prodding, teasing. Thomas flinched but didn’t fight back. He had to stay calm and think.  
  
“Welcome to the Glade, Greenie.” Alby had appeared in front of Thomas and offered his hand. Thomas shook it, trying to affect a look of panicked shock.  
  
“What is this place?” he asked.  
  
Alby launched into the spiel, leading them slowly toward the Homestead, but Thomas wasn’t listening. He cast his eyes around the Glade, taking in everything, searching for something he might have missed, something he could use to kill a Griever during the day. He knew he could stab a Griever in the back, but it would have to be distracted…and also not roll over and crush him once it was dead. Maybe if he climbed up the ivy and tied it around his waist, so the Griever couldn’t drag him down? It might work.  
  
Thomas’ eyes lit on a coil of rope stacked next to the Blood House. Even better.  
  
“Alright, Alby?”  
  
_Please, Tommy. Please._  
  
Thomas winced. Nope, it wasn’t getting easier. It physically hurt to look at Newt now, healthy and smiling. Newt smirked at Thomas.  
  
“How’s it feel?” he asked with a laugh. _Get them out._  
  
“What?” Thomas croaked. _How does it feel to see the person you love most in the world die over and over again, and then come back without a single memory of you? How does it feel to be trapped in the Maze for a THIRD time? How does it feel to look around and know everyone here is going to die?_  
  
Newt shot a look at Alby. “How’s it feel to be our first Greenie not to cry, klunk his pants, or run away screaming?” Alby laughed at Newt’s words. “You’ve set a new record.”  
  
“Oh,” was all Thomas could say. He couldn’t look at Newt, he couldn’t interact with this boy looking at him like he was a stranger. He knew from the last time that if he gave Newt even a hint, Newt would figure out who he was, and then he might not let Thomas leave. Thomas couldn’t risk that.  
  
He was so exhausted. Thomas made to lean against the wall of the Homestead, but Alby stopped him, grabbing his arm and jerking him away.  
  
“What?”  
  
Alby nodded at a glittering silver shape. It scuttled away and vanished around the side of Homestead.  
  
“Careful,” Alby warned. “Those are Beetle Blades. They’ve got a nasty sting. But more on that later.” He led Thomas all the way around the Glade, utterly unaware that Thomas wasn’t listening to a single word he said.  
  
Thomas had completely forgotten about the Beetle Blades. WCKD’s little spies. He didn’t need to get into the Maze at all, he just needed to catch a Beetle Blade and convince WCKD to take him back inside. A relieved grin spread across Thomas’ face. _This_ time it would work.  
  
“You look awfully cheery for someone who just woke up in a strange place with no memories,” said Alby, watching Thomas with suspicion. They had come to a standstill near the kitchens. The smell of Fry Pan’s stew wafted through the windows, making Thomas’ stomach gurgle. When was the last time he had eaten?  
  
“Come on, let’s get some grub.”  
  
For one glorious hour, Thomas forgot everything. He laughed and joked with the only friends he’d ever known in his life. Fry Pan’s stew tasted better than ever. Newt laughed and teased with Gally and Jeff, grinning ear to ear. Alby sat at the head of the table, smiling wearily like an aging father. Thomas’ heart swelled. He was going to save all of them. Nobody else had to die.  
  
After dinner, he put his plan into action. He knew the Beetle Blades clustered on the roofs of the ramshackle buildings, scuttling back and forth all night, watching. As quietly as he could, Thomas climbed to the roof of the Homestead, eyes peeled for the tiny red lights skittering back and forth. One was coming nearer. Thomas held his breath, keeping still as a statue. Wait. The Beetle Blade’s metal feet clacked along the wood. Almost there. It scuttled a little closer and paused. Thomas heard the whirring of the tiny camera adjusting, focusing. Had it seen him? WCKD couldn’t possibly be expecting a Glader to intentionally seize a Beetle Blade, could they? _Almost…_  
  
_Snap!_ Thomas’ hand shot out and snatched the Beetle Blade. Its legs wriggled and its sharp metal wings pushed against his hand, but it had no leverage. Thomas clenched both hands and held the Beetle Blade up to his face.  
  
“Hey, WCKD,” he hissed. “It’s Thomas. Remember me? You guys messed up the memory wipe. I know everything.” The Beetle Blade’s camera retracted slightly. “I realized something while I was in that tank,” Thomas lied. No way was he trying to convince WCKD that he was time travelling. “I know how to get the cure.” He racked his brain for any memories of the WCKD lab in the last city. “Don’t believe me? Try combining subject A-Three’s blood with serum two-six-seven. I know what’s wrong with it and I know how to fix it. Take me back down and I’ll tell you.” He waited. There was only silence. What had he been expecting? Beetle Blades couldn’t talk.  
  
Thomas released the Beetle Blade. It ruffled its wings in a distinctly indignant fashion. A sharp needle shot out from the top of its back. Thomas recoiled, but the needle made no attempt to sting him. Instead, it looped down and started scratching meticulously into the wood upon which they sat. Thomas leaned down, squinting in the growing gloom. The Beetle Blade scuttled away. It had carved something into the beam, but it was too dark to make out. He needed a torch.  
  
As quietly as possible, Thomas swung down the wall and landed almost gracefully at the base of the Homestead. The nearest torch was only a few yards away. Looking back up at the wall, Thomas’ heart sank a little. How the hell was he going to climb back up with a bunch of fire in one hand? He’d figure that out once he got the torch.  
  
Thomas managed to slide the torch out of its stand without attracting any attention, but when he turned around, he found a rather plump obstacle directly in his path.  
  
Chuck folded his arms. “I know I haven’t seen any other Greenies come up in the Box,” he began. “But everyone seems to agree that it’s pretty damn suspicious that you weren’t freaked out at all when you woke up.”  
  
“Uh…yeah,” said Thomas. He tried to sidestep Chuck, but Chuck anticipated the move and blocked him again. Thomas knew he could easily push Chuck out of his way – he had at least a foot and probably thirty pounds of muscle on him – but something deep inside him stopped him from ditching Chuck. He hadn’t realized until this moment just how badly he’d missed the kid, his first friend in the Glade, the stupid, brave little kid who had sacrificed his life for Thomas without a second thought. All of this was meant to save Chuck just as much as it was for Newt.  
  
“I am freaked,” Thomas said. “I just…don’t show it. Uh, night, Chuck.” He stepped sideways and started walking back to the Homestead, but Chuck kept pace with him.  
  
“What’s the cure?” he asked.  
  
Thomas halted dead in his tracks. “What?”  
  
Chuck laughed. “First thing you learn in the Glade, there’s no secrets here. Everybody can hear everything. Although,” he added, “I’ve never seen anyone catch a Beetle Blade with their bare hands before. Who were you talking to?”  
  
Thomas looked down at Chuck, his round face shining with triumph.  
  
“You’re a lot smarter than people give you credit for,” Thomas said.  
  
Chuck shrugged modestly. “People aren’t as careful hiding stuff from you when they think you’re just a dumb kid. I didn’t see a reason to prove myself.”  
  
Thomas chuckled. “Okay, I’m not gonna try to lie to you.”  
  
“Smart.”  
  
“But I also can’t tell you the truth.”  
  
“Hey!” Chuck whined. “No way! I caught you fair and square.”  
  
“Yeah, well I’m older and that makes me the boss of you,” Thomas shot back. This back and forth felt easy, familiar. It couldn’t just be from knowing Chuck his first time through the Maze, could it? He brushed the thought aside. “Look,” he said, turning to face Chuck straight on. “I remember stuff from before the Maze. I figured out a way to help everyone, but I need to do it alone.”  
  
Chuck scowled, but he didn’t argue. He did, however, follow Thomas all the way to the base of the Homestead. Looking up, Thomas swore. He still didn’t know how to get up there one handed.  
  
“Welp,” Chuck sighed, patting Thomas’ back. “Looks like you got this covered. Night, Greenie.” He started to walk away.  
  
Grimacing, Thomas called out, “Hold on, Chuck.”  
  
Chuck looked back, a shit-eating grin on his face. “I thought you needed to do this alone.”  
  
“Okay, maybe I need help,” Thomas confessed. He handed the torch to Chuck. “Think you can meet me at the top window and hand me this?”  
  
Chuck folded his arms. “Promise you’ll tell me the truth at the top?”  
  
“Promise.”  
  
“Pinky swear?”  
  
“That’s dumb.”  
  
“ _Pinky swear._ ”  
  
Thomas rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He hooked his pinky finger with Chuck’s and shook once.  
  
Seeming satisfied, Chuck took the torch and left Thomas alone in the dark to scale the Homestead. More Beetle Blades skittered past him, but none gave him any trouble. There was no sign of a torch at the top when he slid back onto the roof.  
  
“Chuck?” he hissed into the dark.  
  
A few moments later, a huffing noise reached his ears.  
  
“I’m here,” Chuck panted. “Sorry. I’m here.” A disembodied arm reached out the narrow window, holding the torch. Thomas accepted it and held the flame over the approximate spot the Beetle Blade had carved. It took him only a few moments to find it. Relief flooded through him.  
  
The torch illuminated seven jagged letters cut into the wood: BOX DAWN. They believed him. They were going to take him back in. He would give them his blood, they’d make the cure, and all the Gladers would be free.  
  
“What do you see?” Chuck asked. “What is it?”  
  
Thomas handed the torch down to him.  
  
“My plan worked,” he said, simply.  
  
“Hey!” Chuck protested. “You promised you’d tell me the truth if I helped you! You pinky swore!”  
  
“I did,” said Thomas. “It’s true, my plan worked. I didn’t say I’d tell you what it was. Now leave me alone.” He clambered down the Homestead faster than before, dropping several feet at first to get away from Chuck. It wasn’t that he wanted to hurt Chuck’s feelings, but if he told Chuck what he was going to do, Chuck would want to come, and that would put him in danger. Thomas wasn’t taking that chance again. Chuck would be safe until Thomas could release all the Gladers.  
  
When he reached the ground, Thomas set off at a brisk pace toward the Box. He’d sleep beside it, to be absolutely certain he heard it arrive. He couldn’t risk a mistake now.  
  
A sharp pain exploded in Thomas’ left leg. He whirled, preparing for a fight, looking for Grievers, Cranks, anyone. But it was just Chuck, glaring.  
  
“Did you just kick me?” Thomas demanded, more out of shock than anger.  
  
“Yeah!” said Chuck. “You’re being a dick! Tell me what’s going on!”  
  
“No!” snapped Thomas. “Leave me alone or I’ll throw you down the Box Hole.” Thomas winced. He hadn’t meant to sound that mean, but he was stressed. He was scared. And Chuck wouldn’t leave him alone!  
  
“Tell me the truth or I’ll tell everyone you’re crazy and you talk to Beetle Blades.”  
  
“Go ahead,” Thomas sneered Thomas. “Not like it’s illegal or anything.”  
  
Chuck ran to keep up with him as Thomas made a beeline for the Box Hole. “I’m gonna annoy you until you tell me. You know I can.” He poked Thomas hard in the back.  
  
Thomas slapped his hand away, but Chuck just dodged and poked him again, still harder. “Tell me! Tell me tell me tell me tellmetellmetellmetellme!”  
  
“SHUT UP!” Thomas shouted. He plopped down in the grass beside the Box Hole. “Jeez, do you ever stop talking?”  
  
Chuck sat beside him. “Not ‘til you tell me.”  
  
Thomas groaned, but if he was being honest with himself, he was enjoying Chuck’s company. Chuck had a way of brightening the air around him, making everything seem a bit less bleak and a bit more cheery. Although he was annoyed, Thomas found himself smiling for the first time that day.  
  
“Fine,” he said. “We’re in a zoo. In space. An alien zoo. And I stole the zookeeper’s keys. I told him that I won’t give them back until he takes me back down in the Box. Happy?”  
  
Chuck narrowed his eyes. “You can do better than that.”  
  
“Oh yeah?” Thomas elbowed him. “How about… I’m a spy, sent in here by the Creators. They wanted me to figure out who the most annoying Glader is so they know who to eat first, because this is really just a cannibal farm. I’m gonna tell them it’s you.”  
  
Chuck actually laughed. “What about this? You’re the Creator, and you’ve been running this whole place as some kind of experiment, but you wanted to come and see it firsthand because the hard data just wasn’t enough for you.”  
  
That caught Thomas off guard. It wasn’t 100%, but it was pretty good. Chuck didn’t seem to have noticed Thomas’ hesitation, because he was already talking a mile a minute, coming up with still more outlandish scenarios.  
  
They talked for hours, teasing and joking, each trying to outdo the other’s theories. Finally, in the early hours of the morning, Chuck dozed off, leaning against Thomas’ shoulder. Despite the dire situation and the dark truth of what Thomas was about to do, he almost felt happy. He had missed Chuck so badly. This night had truly hammered home to him what it meant to have the chance to save Chuck. He would never go down into the lab, never be confronted by Gally, never dodge in front of Thomas because the bullet would never fly. Thomas dared to hope again.  
  
The sky changed from black to dark gray to light gray. A hollow clanking sounded behind Thomas and he shot to his feet. The Box was coming. His plan had really worked.  
  
Thomas got to his feet, taking care not to jostle Chuck. The Box juddered to a halt, about as inviting as a viper’s mouth. Still, Thomas couldn’t ignore the bubble of hope floating in his chest. WCKD had listened to him. Somebody down there must believe him. All he had to do was give them his blood and make the cure, and then everyone in the Glade would be free. He hopped down into the Box. It didn’t move.  
  
“Come on,” Thomas whispered. The rest of the Glade would be waking up soon, and something told him the Box wouldn’t move if everyone could see it.  
  
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”  
  
Thomas looked up to see Chuck perched at the edge of the Box, staring at him like he’d grown a second head.  
  
“Chuck, please, don’t-” Thomas whispered.  
  
“The Box won’t go back down, ya know,” said Chuck in a tone that was equal parts cocky and nervous.  
  
“It will this time,” Thomas replied. “Please, don’t tell anyone. I can save all of you, I promise. But you have to keep this a secret.”  
  
“Uh, pretty sure people are gonna notice the new Greenie vanishing overnight,” said Chuck.  
  
The Box clanked and began to descend. Chuck seemed to grow taller and taller as Thomas was enveloped by the darkness.  
  
“I can save all of you!” he called again. His voice echoed eerily off the walls of the Box Hole. “I’ll see you again!” His words were dwarfed in the deepening cavern. “Pinky swear!”  
  
The last thing he heard was Chuck’s echoing voice: _You’re crazy you’re crazy you’re crazy crazy crazy crazy…_  
  
“Maybe,” Thomas said to the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know we didn't really see the beetle blades in the movies, don't @ me.


	5. burn it down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The answer was never going to be simple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: blood

The trip down the Box Hole took four minutes and thirty-seven seconds. Thomas counted. As the Box shuddered to a halt, the side of the cage swung down and hit the ground with a deafening _clang!_ Thomas stepped hesitantly out and found himself facing three people. The first was a short man with tightly curling black hair, who was holding a clipboard and looking concerned. The second was Ava Paige, looking exactly the same as she had in the last city, as she swore to Thomas he could save the world. And the third was Teresa. She watched Thomas with a mixture of fear and disbelief. Thomas could imagine why – she’d just watched him lose his memories and vanish into the ceiling, knowing that she too would lose her memories in less than a day.  
  
“What is the meaning of this, Thomas?” Paige asked with her usual clipped tone. She looked more irritated than anything else.  
  
“I don’t have time to explain,” Thomas said. “Halfway through the memory wipe, I figured something out. I don’t know how, but I know that my blood is the cure. Just me.”  
  
Paige almost laughed. “If the answer was that simple, do you think we would have used all our resources to build this Maze?”  
  
Thomas held out his arm for emphasis. “Just test it, please. If I’m right, you let everybody up there go. I’ll stay here with you as long as you need and help you finish making the cure.”  
  
Paige pursed her lips. “I don’t see why I should trust you after the stunt you just pulled.”  
  
Thomas hesitated, wracking his brains. What stunt? He shot a look at Teresa, who widened her eyes at him, looking at him like he had lost his mind. If only she knew.  
  
“You nearly destroyed our entire operation _two days ago_ ,” Paige continued. “Why the change of heart?”  
  
_Oh…_ Thomas’ aching mind ground into gear. Through the concussed fog, he remembered a woman smiling at him. He could hear a voice, but for the life of him he couldn’t recall where he’d met her or why. All he knew was that she’d helped him betray WCKD…somehow. If only he could remember what he’d done.  
  
“We can save everyone,” Thomas said, eyes still on Teresa. If they found the cure right here, right now, she would never go to the last city in the first place, never carry him to the top of WCKD’s lab, never push him onto a Berg with the last of her strength. He would save her this time.  
  
“Very well,” said Paige. “Come with me.”  
  
Thomas tried to walk as though he knew where he was going. His whole plan hinged on them believing he hadn’t lost all his memories, he had to act like he knew what was going on. Paige led them down twisting corridors past offices and labs until they came to a dead end with a single door. Thomas felt Teresa’s hand grip his arm, but he didn’t look at her. He wondered if she would believe the truth if he told her.  
  
Face still twisted with mistrust, Paige instructed Thomas to sit in a chair that looked much more like a torture device than a piece of furniture. Faster than Thomas could follow, she fastened thick straps around his arms and ankles. The message couldn’t have been clearer: _you’re not screwing us over again_. Of course, Thomas wasn’t even going to try. He didn’t need Paige to like or trust him, he just needed her to test his blood.  
  
Teresa swabbed the crook of his arm and slid the syringe into a vein. Thomas held his breath while they mixed his blood with a sample of the virus and leaned over the microscope.  
  
After a moment, Paige looked up at him. “You used to believe in us,” she said. “Why are you trying to destroy everything we’ve built together?”  
  
“What do you mean?” Thomas cried. He jerked against his restraints. His blood was the cure, he was sure of it! It had to work.  
  
At that moment, an alarm wailed overhead, and red lights flashed through the room. Paige bore down on Thomas.  
  
“What have you done?” she snarled.  
  
“I – I don’t-”  
  
She didn’t wait for an answer. Paige stormed out of the lab. “Watch him,” she ordered Teresa, and the door slammed shut.  
  
The moment she was gone, Teresa rushed forward and hugged Thomas. “What the hell is wrong with you!” she demanded. “Why did you come back?”  
  
“I’ll explain everything once we find the cure,” said Thomas.  
  
“We don’t have time!” cried Teresa. “The Right Arm is storming the building!” These words were punctuated by a rumbling explosion. The alarm went silent, and the room was plunged into blackness. Then, with a low whirring, dim emergency lights flickered on, turning Teresa’s face a sickly red.  
  
“They’ve already cut the power,” said Teresa frantically. “Why did you come back!?”  
  
“What the hell is going on?”  
  
“Don’t you remember! _You called them!”_ Tears ran down Teresa’s face. “You told them where all WCKD’s bases were, but Paige found out and sent you into the Maze. I was going to send them a message last night, tell them to wait until I could get you all to safety, but when Paige heard you talking to the Beetle Blade, she shut off my computer. She thinks I was in on the plan all along.”  
  
Thomas took deep steadying breaths, forcing himself to think. “It’s okay, it doesn’t matter now. I promise you, my blood _is_ the cure. You just have to combine it with the serum you already have. Please, Teresa. Just take some more. We don’t have much time.”  
  
Teresa fumbled through drawers for an IV, but her hands were rock-steady as she slid the needle into Thomas’ arm. The tube instantly filled with dark blood and Thomas sighed with relief. Okay, he’d done it.  
  
Another explosion rocked the room. Furniture toppled, and dust drifted down from the ceiling.  
  
“You don’t happen to know what I told the Right Arm to do, do you?” Thomas asked.  
  
Teresa muffled a sob. “Burn it down,” she whispered. “You told them to burn it all down.”  
  
Before Thomas could respond, a third explosion sent rubble and metal flying through the room. Teresa screamed as a cabinet collapsed on top of her, pinning her to the floor. The tube was ripped from the needle in Thomas’ arm, leaving a steady flow of blood running through his fingers and onto the floor.  
  
The lights flickered and vanished.  
  
“Teresa!” Thomas called into the dark. “Are you okay?”  
  
“No!” came the response. “I’m stuck! I think – I think my leg’s broken. I can’t get this damn thing off me.”  
  
“It’s okay, just stay calm.” Thomas forced himself to think. “Can you reach anything you can use for leverage? A pipe or something?”  
  
He heard scrabbling and clanking. “There’s nothing,” said Teresa. “Tom-”  
  
Thomas tried to move, but he was strapped too tightly to the chair. His right arm was hot and wet. His heart pounded in his chest, pumping his blood away. He needed to move, needed to get the needle out and stop the bleeding.  
  
“It’s gonna be okay,” he lied. “Just try to move a little bit at a time.”  
  
Distant shouts and gunfire echoed from the hallway beyond.  
  
“HELP US!” Teresa screamed. “HELP!” But her voice was drowned out by a fourth explosion. No one was coming, and they both knew it. Everything fell silent.  
  
“Teresa?” Thomas asked into the dark after several minutes had passed. His head felt like it was full of cotton balls. When Teresa spoke, her voice seemed to echo, drifting in and out of his ears without traction.  
  
“What?”  
  
“What’s the best memory you have of us?”  
  
Teresa was silent for a moment, then chuckled softly. “The day you came up with the idea for the Maze. We were… seven. You went to Paige with a design, you actually convinced her to build it too. It was all bright colors with tunnels and slides and swings. You had this old magazine from before the Flares, with a picture of a place called McDonald’s. It looked just like the picture.” Her voice cracked. “We played in it all day, and we tried to hide when they came to put us to bed. We climbed all the way to the top and swung down like monkeys.”  
  
Thomas’ heart ached. His head felt squished and stretched at the same time, like his brain was in a taffy puller. The tiny part of his mind that was still thinking strategically knew it was the blood loss, but the rest of him longed to remember this, longed to remember a childhood playing with his friends.  
  
Footsteps and voices drew closer, shouting. Thomas tried to yell, but his lungs felt dusty and sluggish, and he managed only a weak cough.  
  
“Hey,” he whispered.  
  
“Help us!” Teresa shouted, a little louder.  
  
Gunfire cracked through the corridor. He’d told the Right Arm to burn WCKD to the ground, and they’d listened.  
  
“HELP US!” Teresa’s voice sounded distance and warped, like Thomas was underwater and she was calling to him from shore. He wondered if he’d ever been swimming, or had the Flare dried up all the lakes and pools? Had he ever seen an ocean? He wondered if he’d be a good swimmer.  
  
A door crashed open, and two flashlight beams swept through the room.  
  
“Help him!” Teresa sobbed. “Help him, he’s losing too much blood!”  
  
A beam fell on Thomas, obscuring the person holding it. They swore. “That’s a lot of blood.”  
  
Thomas heard footsteps splash toward him. Splash? There wasn’t any water here.  
  
“Hey kid, look at me!” said a familiar voice, but Thomas couldn’t place it. He couldn’t place a lot of things. He was starting to forget where he was.  
  
Thomas looked into the flashlight. It was brighter than the sun in the Glade. Why had they dimmed the sun? Why were they… why did… Thomas couldn’t find the endings to the questions.  
  
“How much blood has he lost?”  
  
That wasn’t Thomas’ question. He didn’t care about that, he wanted to know if he could swim.  
  
“Vince, we gotta get out of here!”  
  
Vince. The name was so familiar. Thomas tried to reach out, but his arms wouldn’t move. Why couldn’t he move?  
  
“Vince,” Thomas whispered. “Vince?”  
  
“I’m sorry, kid,” said the voice. “You’ve lost too much blood and we don’t have a way to carry you back with us.”  
  
“No!” sobbed Teresa. “No, he’s the one who told you where to find us! That’s Thomas! You have to help him, please! Help him!”  
  
_It’s okay,_ Thomas wanted to say, but his lips would not obey his commands. _Teresa, don’t worry. I’ll get it right next time._


	6. you're it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's really just a homoerotic game of tag...

Thomas awoke in the Box with a plan fully formed in his mind. Last time, everything had worked until the Right Arm stormed the building. He needed to give Teresa time to warn them not to come before he captured the Beetle Blade. Which meant he had to play dumb in the Glade for two whole days before he could put his plan into action.  
  
He let Alby give him the tour, barely paying attention. Chuck greeted him with his typical enthusiasm, so excited to show off in front of a newbie. Thomas made sure to ask him lots of questions and let Chuck explain everything. As he listened, Thomas was reminded again of how smart and how kind Chuck really was. For all that they’d been through, Thomas had really only known Chuck for a week, maybe two at this point. How could he care so deeply for this kid he hardly knew?  
  
Eventually Chuck had to go back to Slopping, and Thomas was left alone with his thoughts for barely five minutes before Newt limped over to him.  
  
“First lesson of the Glade, Greenie,” he said. “No sitting on your bum ‘til all the work’s done, all right?”  
  
“Yeah, of course.” Thomas leapt to his feet, eager for any activity to take his mind off his anxieties. He tried to look at Newt like he’d just met him, like he respected him but didn’t know him.  
  
He must not have been successful, because Newt twisted his mouth into a confused frown and said, “Something you wanna say to me, shank?”  
  
“Huh? Why?” Thomas asked, poorly feigning innocence.  
  
Newt raised an eyebrow. “’Cause you’re looking at me like you’re about to burst into tears or something.”  
  
Thomas quickly averted his gaze and ducked his head. “Sorry. I’m just…overwhelmed by this all.”  
  
Newt didn’t seem entirely satisfied by the answer, but he clearly also didn’t want to pursue it. “Whatever,” he said. “Come on, we’ll set you to work. Staying busy’s the only thing keeps us from going crazy.”  
  
Thomas followed Newt to the gardens and they spent a pleasant afternoon harvesting vegetables, repairing frames, and pruning plants. Thomas had forgotten how much he enjoyed Newt’s company. He’d been fighting just to keep Newt alive for so long, he’d forgotten why he was fighting so hard in the first place. Newt was his best friend. He was more than that… Thomas had accepted that he was in love with Newt, but he knew it wasn’t fair for him to say anything now. This Newt didn’t even know him. He couldn’t come bursting into his life and say, “I’ve been in love with you for six months but it was in the future so you don’t remember any of it, wanna date me?”  
  
What did dating even mean here? They were in a desperate struggle for survival, it wasn’t like they could sit down and have a candle lit dinner together.  
  
None of it mattered anyway. Thomas’ singular purpose here was to get back down in the Box and convince WCKD to take his blood. Without the Right Arm bursting in and blowing everything up, they should have time to figure out why the cure didn’t work the way it was supposed to.  
  
“Hey!” Newt snapped his fingers in front of Thomas’ face. Thomas looked up, and realized he’d been staring intently at the same bean plant for five minutes. “You go somewhere?”  
  
“Where can I go?” said Thomas glumly. He gestured at the walls around them. Even though he knew he had a way out, the shadowy monoliths made him feel restless and anxious. He should be doing something, planning, preparing, experimenting. When he got down in the Box, he’d need to be ready to explain why his blood didn’t work. How was he going to convince Teresa and Paige to trust him?  
  
“You get used to ‘em soon enough,” Newt said, following his gaze.  
  
_I didn’t,_ Thomas thought. _I nearly killed you trying to escape this place. I got Jeff, and Chuck, and dozen other guys killed._  
  
“I’m gonna get us outta here,” Thomas said out loud. He was so tired of pretending. He wanted Newt back, _his_ Newt, who told him he was an idiot in the same breath as he said, _I’m coming with you._  
  
Newt laughed, but it wasn’t a kind laugh. It was empty and scratchy, like tumbleweed against a rusty fence. “Nobody’s getting out of here, Greenie,” he said. The darkness in his eyes scared Thomas. For the briefest moment, he looked like a Crank again, angry and hopeless, a gaping vacuum.  
  
Thomas stared at him. Did Newt really believe that? He thought back to his first night in the Glade, when Newt had pointed at Minho and said _Those are the Runners. They know the Glade better than anyone. If anyone’s gonna find a way out, it’s them._ And they had! They had, they had solved the puzzle. It wasn’t impossible.  
  
“See,” Newt continued in that same scratchy voice, “whatever this place is, we’re not _meant_ to escape. I finally figured it out. The Maze isn’t solvable. It’s just there to distract us, give us something to do. We’re trapped here forever, and the sooner you accept that, the easier your life will be.”  
  
A sharp pain nestled in Thomas’ chest. Newt couldn’t truly believe that, could he? Newt had believed in him, Newt had kept him going when he wanted nothing more than to give up.  
  
_I didn’t know where I was, I didn’t know who I was, and I – I couldn’t hack that…_  
  
Of course, Thomas knew Newt had given up hope. He’d given up hope months ago. It was only because of Minho that Newt was still here, talking to Thomas at all. A wild thought flitted through Thomas’ mind. What if he could go back further, back to before Newt jumped from the wall? But it was impossible. Thomas knew he must be coming back to the Box for a reason, and what other reason could there be than that that was his earliest memory. The rest of his life was lost to him.  
  
He would have to make do with the time he had left. It was already more than he ever thought he’d get.  
  
“Okay, well what do you do for fun?” Thomas prompted. He couldn’t fix Newt’s leg or his head, but he knew he could get him to smile.  
  
This got Newt’s attention. “Fun?” He narrowed his eyes and took a step closer to Thomas. “You want to see fun?” When their faces were barely an inch apart, Newt rested his hand on Thomas’ shoulder, leaned still closer, and whispered, “You’re it.”  
  
And then he sprinted. It took Thomas a full five seconds to realize what had happened, but when he did, he shot after Newt, who was laughing maniacally as he plunged into the trees.  
  
“Tag!” Thomas shouted, “Seriously?!”  
  
Newt was fast, even with his limp, but Thomas was faster. Newt was clearly counting on Thomas not knowing the layout of the Glade, but he was dead wrong. Thomas saw Newt vanish around the far side of the Bloodhouse and grinned. There was a shortcut that he could only know if he’d spent an entire day working in there – which he had.  
  
Thomas cut to the left and vaulted over the gate into the stables. He raced past cows and sheep who barely had time to look up before he was gone. Thomas leapt over the back gate and crashed right into Newt, sending them both tumbling into a mound of hay.  
  
Thomas’ ears filled with a noise he couldn’t remember hearing since – since that first night in the Glade, when Newt had given him Gally’s disgusting homemade alcohol. He was laughing – real, genuine laughter. He was on his back against the hay, looking up at Thomas with pure mirth in his eyes. His face was flushed red and sweat beaded his forehead.  
  
“You’ve got chops, Greenie,” Newt panted.  
  
Thomas pushed himself up, but the hay collapsed under his hands and he landed hard on Newt’s stomach. “Oof, sorry!”  
  
“Don’t worry about it.” Newt set both his hands on Thomas’ waist to steady him. “That’s the hardest I’ve laughed in a long time. Thanks, mate.”  
  
Thomas felt his heart leap into his throat. The last time Newt had called him mate was in the letter he’d given to Thomas in the last city. For just a moment, he could pretend his Newt was back.  
  
“Hey, lovebirds,” shouted a voice, causing both Newt and Thomas to jump and roll sideways. Winston stood a few yards away, pitchfork slung over his shoulder. “Dinner time!”  
  
Thomas found his feet first and pulled Newt upright. Newt blushed furiously as he brushed hay and dirt from his clothes. When he looked up at Thomas, however, his expression was anything but embarrassed. He stared at Thomas, torn between confusion and something sadder, but not sad.  
  
“I feel like I know you,” he said softly. “But I can’t, can I?”  
  
“I guess not,” said Thomas. He bit his lip. If there was a time to tell him, it was now. He could tell Newt everything, maybe Newt could help. Maybe the cure would work if they tested it with Newt’s blood. He could force WCKD to give Newt the cure first, and keep him safe.  
  
No, it wasn’t worth the risk. Newt had to stay safe in the Glade until Thomas could get down into the lab and find the cure. He just needed to wait until tomorrow to catch the Beetle Blade, and the Right Arm would leave them alone with plenty of time to perfect the serum. Then, then he would come back and explain everything.  
  
Thomas looked down and realized he was still holding Newt’s hand. He pulled his hand away and shoved it into his pocket.  
  
“I have to go.”  
  
Thomas did his best to avoid Newt the rest of the night. He sat with Chuck during the bonfire. Chuck was more than happy to introduce Thomas to everyone, proudly showing off his new friend. This time it was Chuck who stumbled into Gally. Gally pulled him into the ring, but he was laughing. He sparred with Chuck, never aiming to land a painful blow. He even let Chuck get in a few good punches before knocking him on his butt, only to drag him up a second later.  
  
“Your turn, Greenie,” Gally said, holding out a hand to Thomas. “Gotta show us what you’re worth.”  
  
Thomas almost laughed as he took Chuck’s place in the ring. The Gladers all around him chanted, “GREE-NIE! GREE-NIE! GREE-NIE!” They still didn’t know his name. Should he tell them? Would it somehow change the course of events if they didn’t know it?  
  
Thomas’ eyes fell on Newt, clapping and cheering along with the rest, and he made his decision. If this was going to be his last time through, he wanted Newt to call him Tommy one more time.  
  
Thomas matched Gally blow for blow easily – he’d learned a lot in the Scorch, and he was far more battle hardened than Gally was. But what Gally lacked in experience, he made up for in raw strength. He was a good four inches taller than Thomas, his muscles hard and flexible from years of building. After a few minutes, Thomas let Gally swipe his feet out from under him. His head smacked into the ground, sending his eyes spinning dizzily.  
  
A chorus of sympathetic groans rose up from the Gladers. Thomas lay still for a moment, stunned.  
  
“Not bad, Greenie.” Gally offered a hand.  
  
“Thomas,” said Thomas. He pushed himself to his feet and looked around at the Gladers. “I remember my name! I’m Thomas!”  
  
Alby was the first to react. “THOMAS!” he bellowed. The Gladers swarmed on him, clapping his back and shoulders in congratulations. Chuck was at his side again, beaming and pumping his fist.  
  
“Welcome home, Thomas,” said Fry Pan, and Thomas almost believed him.  
  
_One more night,_ he reminded himself. _I just have to wait one more night and then I can save all of them._  
  
Thomas was worried he wouldn’t be able to sleep with his head buzzing with so many thoughts. He swung himself into the hammock beside Chuck’s, but before he could lay down, a voice from behind him said, “Sleep tight, Tommy.”  
  
Thomas smiled, and slept better than he had since – since… Better than he ever remembered sleeping in his life.  
  
…  
He awoke feeling well-rested and optimistic. The mist over the Glade seemed to shimmer in the first light creeping over the walls. Thomas rolled out of his hammock a little less gracefully than he’d planned and caught himself on all fours in the dirt. He froze, but no one seemed to have been woken by his disturbance.  
  
Once again, he climbed to the roof of the Homestead and seized a Beetle Blade. As he threatened it, he wondered who was watching. Was it a nameless lab tech who would be murdered by the Right Arm? Had they had a family, a life, before all this? What was it like, watching the Glade through a computer screen?  
  
When he released the Beetle Blade, it scratched six letters into the wood. Thomas’ heart thundered in his chest. BOX NOW. It was really happening. They’d believed him again. He scrambled down the wall of the Homestead and bounded gleefully across the Glade. It was going to work, it was going to work, it was going to work!  
  
“Just where do you think you’re going?”  
  
Thomas fought back a wave of déjà vu and turned to face Newt. He watched Thomas, arms folded across his chest. Thomas cast a look over his shoulder at the Box Hole, still ten feet away.  
  
“Just wanted to see the Box,” Thomas said. He kept walking, hoping against hope Newt would leave him alone. He didn’t.  
  
“It’s not there,” he said as he caught up to match Thomas’ pace. “Goes back down once we’ve got all the supplies out. And don’t even think about trying to climb down.”  
  
When they reached the Box Hole, Thomas leaned over the edge, squinting into the gloom, but there was nothing. Would the Box still come if he wasn’t alone? Did Paige suspect a trap? She had to be curious, didn’t she? Even if Thomas had betrayed them, their singular purpose was the cure. She had to pursue that first.  
  
“How’s about you tell me what’s _really_ going on,” said Newt, a hard edge to his voice now. He looked at Thomas with blazing eyes. “Who the hell are you?”  
  
“I told you. I’m Thomas.”  
  
“That’s just a name,” said Newt. “Who _are_ you? Why are you here?”  
  
Thomas mentally kicked himself. He’d known it was dangerous to get close to Newt, knew he’d be the first one to see through Thomas. But it had felt so good just to run and joke with him.  
  
Thomas shrugged. “Same as the rest of you, I guess,” he said. “No idea.”  
  
Newt laughed. “You’re a terrible liar, Tommy. You know something the rest of us don’t. The way you look at us, it’s like pity. Like you feel sorry for us.”  
  
“Of course I feel sorry for you!” Thomas snapped, panic rising in his chest. Where was the Box!? “You’re all stuck in a giant maze with no memories. How sucky is that?”  
  
Newt raised his eyebrows. “Who said anything about a maze?”  
  
_Shit._  
  
“I, uh,” Thomas stammered for a moment. “Chuck…let it slip yesterday.”  
  
Newt folded his arms, unimpressed.  
  
Thomas gave up. “Fine. Yes, I know something. I also know that if I tell you, you’ll think I’m crazy.”  
  
“Try me.”  
  
“No,” said Thomas. “There’s something only I can do. And I’m not gonna let you stop me.” At that moment, a dull, echoing clank reached his ears.  
  
Newt leaned over the Box Hole and whispered, “No shucking way.” He looked back up at Thomas. “That’s the Box.”  
  
“I know,” said Thomas quickly. “Please, please believe me. I’m going to get you all out of here. But I need you to trust me.”  
  
“How did you get the Box to come back?”  
  
“I can’t explain right now!” The clanking was growing louder. Thomas looked out across the Glade, but everything was silent and still.  
  
“You know why we’re here.” It wasn’t a question.  
  
The Box clanked.  
  
“I… yes. I know why you’re here. I know everything.”  
  
Faster than Thomas would have believed, Newt had him pinned to the ground, elbow pressing against his neck. “You son of a bitch,” he snarled. “You’re one of them!”  
  
“Newt!” Thomas choked. The Box was coming closer and closer – he was running out of time. “Please, Newt! Listen to me.”  
  
“Not a chance,” said Newt. “You did this to us! Seems only fair we should return the favor.”  
  
Black spots grew in Thomas’ eyes. It couldn’t end like this. He was so close! He just needed to get into the Box and he could fix everything! His hand scrabbled through the grass.  
  
“Newt…” he wheezed. “I can save you… I can… save…” His fingers closed around a rock and he brought it up, hard. It clunked into Newt’s head and Newt released Thomas with a pained grunt.  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
Thomas leapt into the Box and slammed the cage door shut. Tears burned his eyes as he looked up at Newt, rubbing his head and watching Thomas with pure hatred on his face.  
  
_Soon it won’t matter,_ Thomas reminded himself. _I’ll get the cure and give it to Newt, and then I can explain everything. Then he’ll understand._  
  
Thomas spent the rest of his time in the Box practicing what he would say to Paige and Teresa.  
  
The Box slid to a halt and a door slid open, revealing Teresa and Paige. Teresa still looked anxious, but not as panicked as last time. That must mean she’d already contacted the Right Arm. No one was going to bomb the building in the middle of the test this time.  
  
“What is the meaning of this, Thomas?” asked Paige, prim as ever.  
  
“I know you have no reason to trust me,” said Thomas quickly. “I know I sold you out to the Right Arm and betrayed you. I was only doing what I thought was right. Please, just listen to me. I know how to make the cure, I realized it halfway through the memory wipe. You don’t have to trust me, please just test my blood with the serum and I’ll prove it to you.”  
  
Paige raised her eyebrows. Was she surprised? After a moment’s deliberation, she nodded to Teresa. “Very well, we’ll test you. But I don’t know what you expect us to do with only half our serum samples.” She sneered. “Seeing as how you stole the rest of our supply and shipped them off to God knows where.”  
  
Thomas did his best to appear unaffected by this information. He’d done what now? He knew he’d sent WCKD’s locations to the Right Arm, but he didn’t know he’d also stolen serum. He wrestled with his muddled memories, trying to recall everything he could about the Right Arm.  
  
They were in the mountains, with Vince and the girls from Aris’ group, Jorge, Brenda – _Brenda!_ He’d cured Brenda when she’d been sick. No, he hadn’t cured her. Mary had. Mary, the ex-WCKD scientist who’d recognized him, who’d stopped them from killing Brenda. Wherever Mary was right now, she must have the real serum.  
  
It was time for a new plan.  
  
Thomas followed Paige and Teresa until they drew level with a set of doors that stretched from floor to ceiling, flanked by two uniformed guards. That had to be the hangar. The Maze was in the middle of nowhere, there must be at least one Berg. He’d need a gun and a key. And he’d need to be fast.  
  
Just as they passed the second guard, Thomas dodged to the left, snatching the guard’s Launcher. He fired a bolt of electricity into his stomach, then whipped around and nailed the second guard. Before Paige and Teresa could so much as turn around, he shot them both in the back with two more bolts. Buzzing with adrenaline, Thomas seized Paige’s ID badge and swept it through the keypad on the door. It rumbled open to reveal a hangar bay with a single Berg at the very far end. Thomas ran.  
  
A klaxon alarm wailed through the hangar, accompanied by flashing red lights. Half a dozen engineers and deck hands swarmed around him, but Thomas took them out easily. He raced up the ramp of the Berg and threw himself into the pilot’s seat.  
  
“You can do this,” he panted, running his hands over the controls. “You can do this.”  
  
The Berg bucked and rolled, and flashing lights burst all over the console.  
  
“Come on!”  
  
Thomas could see more guards and techs converging through the Berg’s front window, carrying real guns this time.  
  
“Shit!”  
  
Thomas grabbed what he prayed was the throttle and pushed it as far as it would go. The Berg roared the life and shot forward, filling the hangar with a cloud of fumes. The building dropped away and was replaced by shimmering sand. He’d done it.  
  
Heart still thundering, Thomas forced himself to slow down and take stock of his surroundings. The controls of the Berg were not labeled, but they were intuitive. It was meant to be able to fly itself should the need arise, and he could already see it correcting pitch, yaw, and roll. All he needed now was to tell it where to go.  
  
Thomas closed his eyes, allowing himself to fall into his memories of the Right Arm. He saw dusty mountains, an infinite desert, the skeleton of a once bustling city. They’d flown East in escaping from the first Maze, then run north. How far north had they gone? It had felt like hundreds of miles, but they’d only been walking for two days before they found Jorge…  
  
Leaving the Berg to fly itself, Thomas started pressing buttons on the console’s computers. A three-dimensional projection of the ground below popped up.  
“Yes!”  
  
Thomas zoomed out until the map displayed hundreds of square miles. The map became and unreadable squiggly mess.  
  
“Come on, Thomas, you got this. You got this.”  
  
Thomas settled in to the long, laborious task of memorizing maps. As labor intensive as it was, Thomas actually found himself enjoying the work. A small voice in the back of his head reminded him that mazes and puzzles had been his strength all along – he’d designed the Maze. He worked methodically a square at a time, sorting through the mountains, until at last he found the one, the massive rock that jutted straight up into the sky. The rock where Teresa had stood, tears in her eyes, and whispered, “I just did what I thought was right.”  
  
Thomas set a course for the Right Arm.  
  
Find Mary, find the serum. Find the serum, get the cure. Get the cure, give it to Newt, and we can all go free. Thomas repeated the plan in his head like a prayer. This would be different. This time he would save everyone.  
  
_Newt sprinted toward him, eyes blazing. Black spit flew from his mouth as he let out a savage roar. He slammed into Thomas, knocking him to the ground._  
  
“Newt! Stop, please! It’s me! It’s Thomas!”  
  
Newt’s hands closed around his throat. “KILL ME!” he screeched. “KILL ME!”  
  
The world exploded around them and-  
  
Thomas woke with a jolt to wailing alarms. The sky outside was inky black, turning the window into a mirror, reflecting a dozen flashing lights. The Berg jerked to one side, and a single light caught Thomas’ attention: **HULL DAMAGE**. Thomas leapt to his feet and ran through the Berg to the exit ramp – or what had been an exit ramp. Now all that was left was a flaming hole, through which he could see the ground fast approaching.  
  
“Motherf-”  
  
The Berg smashed into the ground, sending Thomas flying through the air. He slammed into the low ceiling above the ramp, then dropped down, just barely missing the razor-sharp edge of the hole blown in the floor. The Berg scraped to a halt, half on its side. Thomas lay where he was, in too much pain to move.  
  
What the hell had happened?  
  
Thomas’ question was answered a moment later when a dozen flashlights landed on him.  
  
“Get out of there!” shouted a voice. “Nice and slow, come on out!”  
  
Thomas pushed himself into a sitting position and raised his hands above his head. “Okay,” he called. “Okay.”  
  
He ducked under the ripped steel of the Berg and stepped out into the Right Arm camp. He heard the cocking of guns and angry mutters he couldn’t quite make out.  
  
Arms still above his head, Thomas said, “I need to see Mary.”  
  
“Who’s askin’” called a familiar voice. Vince.  
  
“I’m a friend.”  
  
Vince laughed mirthlessly. “We ain’t friends with WCKD.”  
  
A single gunshot cracked through the still night. Thomas frowned. Who had shot? And at whom? He heard a woman scream, and someone calling a name.  
  
Two stars pierced the blue-black sky. There used to be more stars. Why was he looking at the sky? Hadn’t he been looking at Vince?  
  
“Thomas, Thomas stay with me!”  
  
A woman’s face swam into view. He knew this face; this face was important. But for the life of him he couldn’t remember why.  
  
Something pressed against his stomach and pain shot through his body. Thomas screamed.  
  
“Thomas, I’ve got you,” said the woman he couldn’t remember. “You’re gonna be okay. Why did you come here?”  
  
He needed something. He needed to remember! Newt, Newt was important. He was trying to save Newt. How? Newt was sick. Newt needed medicine. He needed a cure. Thomas’ brain hurt, but he kept going.  
  
“Cure,” he whispered. “I have the cure.”  
  
“Oh my God,” the woman sobbed. “I need help! Get me more bandages! Now!” Footsteps scuffled all around, growing fainter and fainter. “Thomas, please stay with me.”  
  
He had been so close, but now he was so tired. He just wanted to sleep. But first he had to give them the cure. What was the cure again?  
  
“Thomas!”

  



	7. how far that faith had carried him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe they'd already forgotten him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's really short so stay tuned for chapter 8 as well!

Thomas bypassed the Berg entirely the next time. He took out Paige, Teresa, and the guards, and then he ran. He ran and ran and didn’t stop to look back until night had fallen. Only then did he realize the absolute insanity of his plan. He was alone in the desert with no map, no water, and no weapons.  
  
Icy wind cut at his hands and face. He was wearing only the pants and long-sleeve t-shirt he’d woken up in. He wrapped his arms around his body, rubbing his hands up and down his biceps. His discomfort didn’t matter. All he had to do was find the Right Arm. They wouldn’t shoot at him if he wasn’t in the Berg. They’d give him water and clothes. All he had to do was find the Right Arm.  
  
_Find the Right Arm._  
  
_Find the Right Arm._  
  
The sun rose, bringing with it sweltering heat and swimming mirages across the horizon. Wait a minute… Thomas knew he needed to go north, but now the rising sun was directly in front of him. _Shit._ He turned ninety degrees to the left and kept walking.  
  
_We’ve been lost before._  
  
Newt’s voice echoed in his ears. Newt was alive, somewhere miles behind him. He was probably waking up the Glade, getting everyone to breakfast and work. Maybe the Glade would be buzzing with gossip about the crazy Greenie who’d vanished overnight. Maybe they’d already forgotten him.  
  
_You can’t give up._  
  
It felt like an eternity ago that Newt had sat beside him in this very same desert, looking at Thomas with fire in his eyes, telling him he wouldn’t let him give up. Thomas hadn’t understood then what Newt meant. Newt had reached rope’s end. He’d given up everything. But something had brought them together all the same, and Newt had decided to put his faith in Thomas. Thomas hadn’t realized until now how far that faith had carried him. It still carried him now, propelling him across the desert, half-blind and parched with thirst.  
  
He could see mountains in the distance now, but no matter how long he walked, they didn’t seem to grow any larger. He had to reach them soon.  
  
His tongue felt sore and swollen in his mouth. He tried to swallow, but inhaled only a mouthful of sand and dropped to his knees, coughing violently. Thomas was reminded of Newt, coughing up black bile, trembling in Thomas’ arms. He couldn’t let that happen again. Newt would reach Safe Haven, even if it killed Thomas.  
  
A suffocating wave of hopelessness swept over Thomas. He staggered a few more feet, then collapsed to his knees. It was pointless. It was all pointless. He’d been given chance after chance to save his friends, and he’d failed every time. Whatever force or power was sending him back, they weren’t helping him. They were torturing him. Thomas was doomed to repeat this cycle, watch his friends die, until he lost his mind.  
  
The sand cut like glass against his cheek, stinging his eyes and nose. He dug his hands into the ground, clawing, digging. He wasn’t sure what for, but he dragged handfuls of sand up until he sat in a hole. Thomas collapsed against the sand, looking up at the scorching sun. It was too late. It had been too late when he woke up in the Box. He didn’t have all the information. He knew only what Paige had told him: The sun scorched the earth, the earth’s population got sick, and only Thomas could save them.  
  
There had to be more. He needed to know more.  
  
Thomas dragged in a breath, but got only sand, filling his lungs until he felt like a human sand castle. He wondered if he’d ever built sand castles. He’d never know. He’d never know who he’d been for the first sixteen years of his life.  
  
Maybe the old Thomas could have saved them. But this Thomas was weak. This Thomas had lain down in the desert and let himself be buried by sand. This Thomas couldn’t save anyone.


	8. gone by midnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He could stop everything. He could stop Newt from jumping, he could save Brenda’s brother. Nobody needed to go into the Maze at all.

The answer came to him in the darkness of the Box. It was so simple, how had he not thought of it before? He could stop everything. He could stop Newt from jumping, he could save Brenda’s brother. Nobody needed to go into the Maze at all.  
  
He’d been waking up in his first memory. He’d been waking up in the Box because it was the earliest thing he remembered. But if he could go back before his memory was wiped, he could stop WCKD from building the Maze in the first place.  
  
All he needed to do was get his memories back.  
  
He knew it could be done. Paige had given Teresa her memories back after she betrayed them. There had to be an operation, some stitch or poke in his brain, and he would remember everything, remember who he’d been and why he’d ever helped WCKD.  
  
Thomas didn’t bother playacting the scared Greenie this time. He ignored everyone and made straight for the Dead Heads, where the Beetle Blades congregated during the day. They scattered when they saw him, but his hand closed around one and he held it close to his face.  
  
They believed him. They told him to go back down in the Box at dusk.  
  
Thomas ate dinner in silence, deaf to the din of the Gladers. A couple of them gave him nervous looks, but it probably wasn’t unheard of for a Greenie to be so in shock he just didn’t talk for the first few days. It didn’t matter, he’d be gone by midnight.  
  
He didn’t go for the Launcher this time. He went for the gun and he held it on Paige.  
  
“Thomas?” she said in a low, even voice. She took a hesitant step closer to him.  
  
“Give me back my memories,” Thomas whispered. He could feel his whole body trembling, but his arm was perfectly still. “Give them back.”  
  
Teresa watched from a few feet away, eyes wide with panic. Was she scared of Thomas? Or of the impending Right Arm attack. He didn’t have time to find out.  
  
“Now!” Thomas shouted when Paige didn’t respond.  
  
“All right,” she said. She jerked her head down the hall. “Come with me.” Thomas held them at gunpoint until they reached a lab partway down the corridor. Paige gestured for Thomas to go inside.  
  
He flicked the gun. “You first.”  
  
Paige sighed and pursed her lips, but led the way into lab. “You understand you’ll need to go under for the procedure to work, Thomas.”  
  
“No way,” said Thomas, shaking his head. “I’m not taking my eye off you for a second.”  
  
“ _Thomas,_ ” Paige said in an exasperated tone. “This is brain surgery. I need to cut your head open and remove the temporal blocker from inside your brain. You do not want to be awake for that.”  
  
“I promise I do,” whispered Thomas. He kept the gun trained on Paige as he stepped sideways toward the operation table at the center of the room. “I don’t care how bad it hurts, I’m not sleeping again.”  
  
“Very well,” said Paige. She nodded at something over Thomas’ shoulder. “Go ahead, Teresa.”  
  
Thomas turned just in time to see Teresa seize his shoulder and jab a syringe into his neck. The gun clattered to the floor as all the strength flooded from his hand. Teresa seemed to be growing larger. No, just closer. He felt gentle hands under his armpits, and the cool linoleum of the floor.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Teresa whispered. “We’re gonna figure out what went wrong. It’s gonna be okay, Thomas.”  
  
…  
  
Thomas awoke to soft white – he was not in the Box. Had his plan worked? No, he still didn’t remember anything before the Maze. Where was he?  
  
“Thomas?”  
  
Thomas jerked upright. Teresa stood above him, wearing a white lab coat and holding a clipboard. Her hair was swept back in a neat bun. Thomas turned his head, taking stock of his surroundings. He was in a white, padded cell, about eight feet by ten feet. Behind Teresa, there was a locked door with a small window at eye-level. He didn’t need memories to know that he was in a prison.  
  
“What’s going on?” he asked, looking back at Teresa. He pushed himself to his feet, but stayed a few feet away from her.  
  
“You attacked us,” said Teresa, sounding genuinely hurt. “We think something went wrong with your memory wipe. We brought you back down in the Box because you said you still had your memories and you’d figured out the cure, but then you pulled a gun on me and Ava and told us to give your memories back.” Her eyes shone with tears. She was scared of him.  
  
Thomas rubbed his hands over his face. His vision blurred – he was so tired. “I can explain everything,” he said. “Something really, really weird is happening, but I think I can fix everything. I can save everyone. I just need your help.”  
  
Teresa deliberated for a moment. Thomas was acutely aware of the fact that she had years and years of memories of him, of their time together. They’d been best friends. They’d trusted each other more than anyone else in the world.  
  
Then, miraculously, Teresa nodded. She sat down cross-legged on the floor and set her clipboard beside her.  
  
“Tell me everything.”  
  
Thomas talked for almost two hours, weaving back and forth as he remembered more and more, bits and pieces he’d nearly forgotten – the mall in the Scorch, Winston getting scratched, Newt figuring him out over and over again. He told her about Chuck, how he’d died to save Thomas, how he’d kept Thomas company all night the first time he waited for the Box to take him down. He told her about the Right Arm attack, and the rainbow playground they’d built together. He told her about dying in Mary’s arms, about stumbling through the Scorch, and finally the realization that he needed the rest of his memories.  
  
“I know it sounds crazy,” he said at last. “I promise you, it’s all true.”  
  
Teresa nodded slowly. “You’ve never lied to me before,” she said simply. “And that story’s way too crazy to be made up.”  
  
Thomas collapsed against the wall, relief and exhaustion flooding his body. She believed him.  
  
“So you’ll help me?”  
  
Teresa nodded again. She picked up her clipboard and tossed her head in a businesslike fashion. “I’ll say I’m just running tests on you, to see what may have gone wrong with the memory wipe.” She stood up and straightened her lab coat. “I’ll be right back.”  
  
The moment the door closed, Thomas slid down the wall until he was sprawled on the floor, limbs splayed around him. His entire body ached with fatigue. He felt like every fiber of his being had been screaming since he first woke up in the last city, and now they had finally released. Teresa believed him. She was going to help him. In a few hours, he would have all his memories back, and he would be able to stop anyone from going into the Maze. He would see all of his friends again, and they’d get to live long, happy lives together. And Newt would never jump from the wall. He’d be happy and healthy and live to be an old, old man.  
  
Teresa returned with a guard who was pushing a gurney in front of him.  
  
“Get on the gurney, Thomas,” she instructed.  
  
Thomas obeyed, heartrate increasing just a little as he allowed her to close straps around his wrists and ankles. But Teresa winked as she tightened the last strap, and Thomas relaxed again. She was going to help. This time he would save everyone. His plan was going to work.  
  
Teresa sent the guard away when they reached the operating room. When the door had clicked shut behind him, Teresa leaned over Thomas, face drawn with worry.  
  
“Are you sure about this?” she asked.  
  
Thomas swallowed. “More than I’ve ever been about anything.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Teresa bustled around behind his head for a couple minutes, until finally she pulled a heavy machine suspended on a crane arm over his head. Teresa lowered it down until a hard plastic semi-circle rested over Thomas’ eyes.  
  
“Thomas,” she said, a tremor in her voice. “There’s something you should know. This may not work the way you think it will.”  
  
“What the hell does that mean?”  
  
“I mean we didn’t just lose all our memories in one night, that’s way too much. They did prep wipes on us for years, practicing with just small bits and pieces so they could see how our brains reacted to the tech.”  
  
“What does that _mean_?” Had this all been for nothing? Again?  
  
“You’ll get your memories back,” said Teresa. “Just maybe not all of them. If you’re right, and you can wake up in your earliest memory… I don’t know. I just don’t know how much you can get back at once. It was never supposed to happen like this.”  
  
Thomas stretched out his fingers and felt Teresa’s hand close around his. “It’s okay,” he said. “I have to do this.”  
  
Teresa squeezed his hand and then withdrew. “This may pinch.”  
  
If Thomas thought the headache he’d had since waking up was bad, it was nothing compared to the agony of fifteen years of memories flooding into his brain at once. A deluge of emotions and thoughts such as he had never known exploded all at once until he felt like he was drowning. He saw brief flashes of memory, faces and rooms – he saw Newt, with blond fluffy hair and gap-toothed smile – he saw Chuck, Alby, Teresa, all of them round-faced and painfully young. He saw a crying baby and a barking dog, and Ava Paige smiling at him. And then nothing.  
  
“Thomas?”  
  
Thomas’ head whirled. He couldn’t tell if what he was hearing was memory or reality. He felt dizzy and nauseated. He couldn’t make sense of the memories, there were too many. Had he made a mistake.  
  
“Thomas, can you hear me?”  
  
The machine lifted away from his and he saw Teresa’s concerned face. A staggering wave of déjà vu swept over him. Teresa. He’d known her for ten years, he’d played dolls and tag with her. She looked so grown up.  
  
“Yeah,” he mumbled.  
  
Teresa set about undoing the straps around his wrists and ankles and helped him sit up. “How do you feel?”  
  
Thomas rubbed his head. He could swear he heard his brain sloshing around inside like water in a bucket. “Fuzzy.”  
  
“It’ll take a while for the memories to settle in,” she said. “You’ll probably get the most traumatic memories first. That’s just the way brains work.” She rested a hand on his shoulder. “Are you really okay?”  
  
Thomas nodded, then winced. His head _hurt._  
  
“I need you to do one more thing for me.”  
  
“Whatever you need.”  
  
Thomas looked right up into Teresa’s eyes. “I need you to kill me.”  
  
“What! I can’t! Thomas!”  
  
“That’s how it works, I told you!” said Thomas. “It’s already too late. I have my memories now, I can go back further. I can stop anyone from ever dying in the Maze.”  
  
Tears spilled from Teresa’s eyes. “You can’t ask me to kill you!”  
  
“You won’t even remember it happened. I’ll get it right this time. You and I will never go into the Maze at all. We’ll all get to Safe Haven. Every one of us.” He grabbed her hand. “Please, Teresa. Please.”  
  
Teresa clenched her jaw. She swiped furiously at her eyes and turned away from him.  
  
“Teresa!”  
  
“Shut up!” she whimpered. “Shut up, shut up! I can’t focus with you talking.”  
  
A moment later she turned back to face him, holding a syringe. “Do you swear to me you know what you’re doing.”  
  
Thomas managed a weak smile. “Have I ever known what I’m doing?”  
  
Teresa let out a watery laugh. “Lie back.”  
  
Thomas laid down on the table. This was all okay. He was going to wake up before the Box, he was going to save everyone. He was going to stop anyone from going into the Maze. Find the cure, get the Safe Haven, find the cure, get to Safe Haven. He repeated the words over and over in his mind until his eyelids grew heavy. Teresa swam in front of him, growing blurrier by the second.  
  
“Goodbye, Thomas.”


	9. an afterlife of someone else's choosing.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had never just been luck.  
> TW: Suicide

It was immediately apparent that he wasn’t in the Box. For one thing, Thomas awoke standing up. For another, he was surrounded by people. Shouting people.  
  
“Call Doctor Paige!”  
  
“There’s no way she’ll get here in time!”  
  
“We’re not allowed to interfere!”  
  
“This wasn’t part of the plan!”  
  
“We can’t interfere!”  
  
“Where’s Thomas!?”  
  
Thomas’ head whipped around and he found himself standing beneath a bank of computer monitors. There were at least forty, but everyone in the room was crowded around a single screen in the lower left corner. Thomas pushed forward through the throng of people. What he saw made his heart stop.  
  
The screen showed a body, tangled in ivy and sprawled on the ground. The boy screamed, the sound tinny and faint through the control room’s speakers.  
  
“Newt,” Thomas breathed.  
  
“Thomas, there you are!” cried Teresa. She threw her arms around his neck and sobbed. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, you were right! I should have listened to you I’m sorry!”  
  
He had to act, he had to do something. Newt was trapped in the Maze, they had to get him out now.  
  
“We have to get him out,” he said aloud. “Let me in there, I’ll get him.”  
  
Teresa shook her head and took a step back. “We can’t,” she said. “We can’t interfere.”  
  
“What are you talking about!” Thomas stormed forward and gestured furiously at the monitor. “He’s right there, just turn off the Grievers and let me go in and get him!”  
  
“That’s not how it works!” shouted Teresa. “We can’t interfere! You _know_ that!”  
  
“Fine!” Thomas snapped. “I’ll go by myself!” He tried to push past her, but she grabbed his arm and held fast.  
  
“We can’t!” she repeated. “What the hell is wrong with you?”  
  
“What’s wrong with you!? He’s gonna die!”  
  
“We all accepted that risk when we started this,” said Teresa, her voice suddenly low. “Newt too. What’s going on, Thomas?”  
  
He was wasting time. Thomas’ eyes flicked to the screen, where Newt still lay prone, and made up his mind. Without warning, his wrenched his arm from Teresa’ grasp and sprinted from the lab. He’d made it barely ten yards before he heard Teresa’s voice over the intercom.  
  
_"Security to hallway B. Repeat, Security to hallway B."_  
  
Thomas poured on speed, legs burning. He just had to get to the Box, get into the Maze, find Newt. He could still salvage this.  
  
His face smacked hard into the floor. The floor? He was lying on the floor, but he couldn’t remember falling. Every muscle in his body went rigid. He heard the crackle of electricity.  
  
“NO!” he screamed. “No, please! Let me go!”  
  
Strong hands lifted him by the arms. His legs wouldn’t respond to his commands. They just flopped uselessly against the floor.  
  
“Take him to Cell Two, please,” said Teresa’s voice from somewhere behind him.  
  
“No,” Thomas moaned. His entire body burned and he couldn’t move. “Please, let me go.”  
  
The guards tossed him unceremoniously on the floor of the same padded cell where he’d told Teresa the truth. Or maybe it was a different one. Solitary confinement cells didn’t have a lot of need for variation.  
  
“What the hell is wrong with you!” cried Teresa.  
  
Thomas flailed a couple times before he managed to roll over and look up at Teresa, standing over him and looking livid.  
  
“Teresa,” he pleaded. “You gotta let me go. Please, I have to save Newt.”  
  
“That’s not how this works and you know it,” said Teresa. “We are observers. Period. We can’t interfere.”  
  
“So you’re gonna let him die?”  
  
“I’m going to extract every piece of data from his time in the Maze,” said Teresa stiffly. “And enter it into our algorithm to continue developing the cure.”  
  
“This isn’t you,” Thomas whispered. “Why are you doing this?” But he knew, deep down, that it was her. Teresa had sold out the Right Arm because the cure was everything. She had allowed the torture and death of dozens if not hundreds of children. Why should one boy make the difference?  
  
“I’m sorry, Thomas,” said Teresa. “But I can’t let you interfere. I need to keep you in here until you understand that.” Without another word, she withdrew from the room and pulled the door shut behind her.  
  
Thomas needed to scream, to pound on the door, punch his fist through the tiny glass window. But his body was limp and listless, still numb from the electricity or from exhaustion, he wasn’t sure. What was the point? Why was this happening to him? No matter what he did, he did it wrong. Newt was as good as dead already.  
  
No, wait.  
  
A glimmer of hope flickered in the darkness of his mind. Maybe he wasn’t. A memory from what felt like decades ago surfaced, bringing with it Newt’s voice. _And then Minho found me, somehow. And he picked me up and carried me back to the Glade. And we never told anyone what happened._  
  
There was still hope for Newt. Minho would find him and carry him back. He’d be okay for now. All Thomas had to do was find the serum he’d stolen and combine it with his blood. He’d hoped to prevent the Maze altogether, but this was close enough.  
  
Brain teeming with hope and purpose, Thomas fell asleep.  
  
…  
  
A quiet knock woke Thomas the next morning. Teresa stepped into the room, her eyes hard and red-rimmed.  
  
“Newt’s dead,” she said in a quavering voice.  
  
Thomas felt as though the floor had dropped out beneath him. He tumbled through empty space, trying and failing to comprehend the words she had said. Newt couldn’t be dead. He’d been alive after the fall, Minho was supposed to find him and bring him back. That’s what happened! What went wrong?  
  
“Dr. Paige says you can come out tomorrow if you don’t freak out again,” Teresa continued. She was fighting hard to hide the tremor in her voice, fighting to sound like the passive scientist. But she was still just a child and Thomas could see that she was shaken to her core.  
  
Thomas only stared at her, utterly lost for words. When Teresa was gone, he laid back on the floor and let the misery roll over him in suffocating waves. He’d done everything he thought he needed to do – he’d gotten his memories back, he’d gone back before the Box. But it still wasn’t enough. How could Newt have died?  
  
_And then Minho found me… somehow._ Oh God… Not somehow. It hadn’t been luck, it had never been luck. Thomas felt as though a lead weight had dropped in the pit of his stomach. Conflicting memories grappled in his brain. He was in the control room, fighting, screaming. Electricity shuddered through him. Teresa shouted at him. But behind these memories were more. The memory that had pulled him back in the first place. He didn’t scream. He seized a gun, held it on the guards.  
  
_I’m doing this. Try to stop me and I’ll shoot._  
  
_Hands flew over the controls – his hands. On the mounted screens, walls moved, shifting around, sliding out and in._ Like Pac-Man, _said a voice in his memory. A blip moved on the screen, moving closer and closer to the stationary red flag near the outskirts of the Maze._  
  
_Thomas closed a wall, forcing the blip to move left instead of right – leading it out and out._  
  
_Thomas called up a Beetle Blade feed. From twenty feet up, it showed a blurry figure and a dialogue box that read **Subject A3**. The figure dropped to its knees beside a lump on the ground. The Beetle Blade scuttled sideways and another dialogue box appeared. **Subject A5**._  
  
Thomas let out a wild scream and pounded his fists against the padded floor. He’d stopped himself from saving Newt. It hadn’t been luck that Minho found Newt, it had been Thomas, watching the Maze, guiding him through. By coming back, he’d as good as killed Newt. He was trapped, alone and injured in the Maze, and night fell.  
  
Thomas screamed until his voice was gone. He was still too late. He’d gotten back his memories and he still couldn’t get it right. Whatever power was sending him back again and again, it was a sick, sadistic bastard. Why? Why was he the one who had to watch his friends die? Why couldn’t he just lay down and let the rest of the world eat itself alive? Why was it Thomas’ job to save everyone?  
  
He was never going to win, he knew this now. The world was just going to keep kicking him down until he rolled over and died.  
  
_Fine,_ he decided. _Well, I’m done giving you the satisfaction. You wanna see me give up. Here I go._  
  
Thomas wasn’t sure exactly what he’d thought would happen after this mental pronouncement. Had he expected the white room to dissolve, to be replaced by the ramshackle huts and hammocks of Safe Haven? Or to wake up somewhere else entirely, an afterlife of someone else’s choosing? All he wanted to do was see Newt. Thomas was certain if he could just talk to him, just see him for five minutes, he could fix everything. He could promise Newt a future without the Flare, he could give Newt hope, and then Newt would be happy. He wouldn’t jump.  
  
_I didn’t know where I was, I didn’t know who I was…_ Whatever Newt was feeling, he’d been feeling it for a while before he finally jumped. He’d been tormented by the Maze, terrified, lost, and alone. Thomas now realized that the only way to really save him was to stop him from entering the Maze at all. He would never lose his memories. He would never feel the crushing hopelessness of the Glade. Finally, Newt would be okay.  
  
The answer was clear: Thomas needed to go back further. He needed more memories.  
  
…  
  
Teresa returned the next morning, back to her prim, professional demeanor. Her belief in WCKD’s mission had always been absolute.  
  
“Are you going to attack me again?” she asked stiffly.  
  
“I need your help,” Thomas said. There was no point beating around the bush; everyone already thought he was crazy anyways.  
  
Teresa paused, her mouth slightly open. She shot a look at the door, then looked back at Thomas, who was on his feet. She took a step back.  
  
“I’m not gonna hurt you,” Thomas said. “I need you to do me a favor, and you can’t ask me why.”  
  
Teresa said nothing, which Thomas took as a sign he should continue. “Do you know when my last memory operation was?”  
  
“You mean Prep Wipe?”  
  
“What? Yeah, sure, whatever.”  
  
Teresa chewed her lip. “I think it was a few months ago. Are you still experiencing side effects? You should tell Dr. Paige.”  
  
“I can’t tell Paige!” Thomas hissed. “I can’t tell anyone. You’re the only person I can trust right now. It’s a neural dampener, right? Just like a little thing in my head?”  
  
“You don’t remember?” Teresa asked in alarm. “Thomas, you designed them!”  
  
“It doesn’t matter!” snapped Thomas. “Can you switch it off, yes or no?”  
  
“Thomas, you’re scaring me.”  
  
Thomas wanted to scream, but he forced himself to take a deep breath and lower his voice. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Believe it or not, I’m scaring me, too. I need you to help me, and I can’t tell you why.”  
  
Teresa fell silent for so long, Thomas feared she was just going to leave without saying anything. “It’s not a switch,” she said finally. “Your brain has grown around it, I can’t just reach in and press a button.”  
  
“Then how do we turn it off?”  
  
“We don’t!” cried Teresa. “It’s permanent! This was _your_ idea. You said anything else would risk subjects getting their memories back in the middle of the Glade and ruining all the variables.”  
  
Thomas really wanted to go back in time and kick his own ass. If he hadn’t been so frustrated, he probably would have laughed at the irony.  
  
“Is there anything you can do?” he asked. “Anything to disable it, even temporarily?”  
  
After a moment, Teresa opened her mouth. Then shut it. Then opened it again, and shut it again.  
  
“What?”  
  
Teresa pursed her lips. “It might not work. No, it’s too dangerous.”  
  
“For the love of – just tell me!”  
  
“When you first tested it out, you said the chip couldn’t withstand intense radiation. Specifically, you said, ‘Don’t stick your head in a microwave.’ But enough radiation might short out the chip for a little while.”  
  
“Great!” said Thomas. “Let’s do it.”  
  
“There’s just one problem.”  
  
“I don’t care,” said Thomas. “Come on, let’s go.”  
  
Teresa gaped at him like he’d grown a second head. “That much radiation could kill you!”  
  
Thomas almost laughed. _That’s the plan_. “How fast?”  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“How fast will the radiation kill me?”  
  
“Are you serious?”  
  
“Just answer the question.”  
  
Teresa huffed. “I don’t know. Okay? I hadn’t planned to microwave my best friend’s head today. But you will definitely get radiation sickness and probably cancer and you have a lot more work to do here so I’m sorry, I can’t help you.”  
  
Thomas took a step forward so only a few inches separated them. “You’re my best friend,” he said.  
  
Teresa nodded.  
  
“And I’m yours.”  
  
She nodded again.  
  
“Have I ever given you a reason not to trust me?”  
  
Thomas waited, unsure of the answer he would receive. Maybe he had given Teresa a reason not to trust him. Maybe he’d been erratic and secretive, and she already suspected him of working with the Right Arm.  
  
But Teresa shook her head. “No. You haven’t.”  
  
Thomas grabbed her hands. “Then I need you to do this for me. I promise I’ll never ask you for anything ever again.” _Because I need to die immediately after you do it,_ he finished in his head.  
  
What kind of person must he have been to warrant such trust, Thomas had to wonder as Teresa unlocked the door and led him down the same long hallway. How could Teresa believe him so easily? Every step he took deeper into his lost memories brought new revelations about WCKD. He had been the one to come up with the idea of the Maze. He had designed the memory blockers. What else had he done? What other torments had he imposed on his friends? What could possibly have convinced him it was worth it?  
  
Teresa gestured for Thomas to lay down on a narrow table surrounded by a giant glass sphere.  
  
“This is only supposed to be for neural imaging,” she explained, “but I should be able to change the radiation levels enough to disrupt the blocker for a bit.”  
  
Thomas grabbed her hand and held it tight. “Thank you, Teresa,” he said. “For everything.” He closed his eyes and let her go.  
  
The memories didn’t hurt so much this time. He could feel pressure building behind his eyes, like water collecting behind a dam, a pool of images and sounds that were just beyond his reach, just beyond recognition. It was like looking straight up at a blue sky at the apex of a swing and for just one second, believing you can kick right up at it. He saw faces he knew he should know, heard voices he loved before he could name them, smelled firewood and soap and rust.  
  
And then the dam burst. Like waking up from a dream and remembering the rest of the world, sorting through what was true and what was imagined. He couldn’t find the words, but he understood. He knew everything. He knew what he had to do.  
  
Slowly, the lab returned. The whirring machine slowed and fell silent. Teresa helped him sit up, her face drawn with concern. She squeezed his shoulder.  
  
“Thomas?”  
  
Thomas looked up at her as though seeing her for the first time and the millionth time all at once. Her name felt new and ancient on his tongue, his best friend, his sister, the person who’d had his back through all of this. Even when she thought he was wrong, she’d stuck by him, sometimes too much. The only question left to ask was would she still support him now that he was going to fix his mistakes?  
  
“I know,” he said, because it was all he _could_ say. He knew. He knew everything. He knew what he had done, why he had done it, and why he had to fix it all.  
  
“It worked?” she asked.  
  
Thomas nodded. “I just need you to do one more thing for me.”  
  
“Anything,” Teresa said quickly. “Anything.”  
  
But looking in her eyes, Thomas realized he couldn’t ask her to do it again. The last time, Teresa had known exactly what his death meant. At least some part of her intellectually understood that Thomas wouldn’t really die, that she wouldn’t remember anything once he was gone. This Teresa didn’t know that, and Thomas knew in his heart he couldn’t ask her to kill her best friend.  
  
“I need you to leave.”  
  
Teresa paused. “Why?”  
  
“I can’t tell you. Hopefully soon you’ll understand. Please, Teresa. Please, just go.”  
  
She went.  
  
Thomas was alone in the lab. How many years he’d spent in labs just like this, poring over samples, drawing diagrams, running computer simulations. He wasn’t sure if he’d been a prodigy, or if he’d just refused to give up. He felt the fire in him, the same fire that had driven him into the Maze, that had kept him walking in the Scorch, that had given him the courage to leap onto a moving train. The fire that had pushed a thirteen-year-old to design a death trap for the sake of the greater good, that had convinced him that he could still save the world even without any memories. He wondered which Thomas was real. The one who had gone to sleep in the Box, or the one who had woken up?  
  
It wouldn’t matter for much longer.  
  
He found the morphine and filled a syringe, then settled into a chair pushed up against the wall. He closed his eyes, plunging into his new memories. He could control it, he knew now. He didn’t need to go back as far as he could go, he just needed to go back before the Maze Trials.  
  
A memory surfaced and sharpened: people seated around a long, dark table, all eyes turned on him. That must be the Creators. That was the crucial moment, when the decision had been made.  
  
Thomas slid the needle into his arm and pushed.


	10. mixing memory and desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What a story he'd have to tell...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Suicide, blood, death. Please take care of yourselves

Thomas awoke to silence. Absolute silence, the kind that presses against ear drums like you’re underwater, drowning. At last, Thomas understood everything.  
  
Knuckles rapped against metal. Thomas straightened up and found himself in a simple office chair behind a desk. The desk was scattered with drawings and handwritten notes in haphazard piles, reminding him of the sifting sand dunes of the Scorch.  
  
“Did you fall asleep?” said a wonderfully familiar voice. Thomas felt the knot in his stomach loosen a little as he spun his chair around.  
  
The sight of Newt punched all the air from his lungs. He was so _young_. His hair was a much lighter blond, fluffy and curly like a yellow cloud. His face was round, and his ears stuck straight out from his head. How old were they now? Thomas had never really known his age to begin with, but he’d always felt like Newt was older. Thomas caught sight of a reflection in a darkened window. That couldn’t be him.  
  
He’d only seen his reflection a handful of times to begin with, but had he ever looked so young? Had his face ever been so clean? Devoid of all blood and dirt? He hadn’t had a shower since WCKD fake-rescued them. He hadn’t seen his reflection since the black windows of WCKD’s central base, as he asked Ava Paige, _Could I have saved him?_  
  
The boy who looked back at him was a _child_ , maybe the same age as Chuck. Had he really been so young? So innocent?  
  
Thomas looked down at the papers on which he’d been sleeping. Not innocent, he realized. Never innocent.  
  
“Tommy?”  
  
Newt’s voice snapped him back to the present, reminding him why he was here. The cure. It had always been about the cure.  
  
Newt crossed the room and seated himself on Thomas’ desk, looking at him with concern. “The meeting’s about to start. Are you ready?”  
  
It was like looking too long at a sunset. Thomas’ eyes stung and watered. He couldn’t look at Newt, couldn’t accept that he’d ever looked like _this_. How young had he looked the day they took his memories and sent him up into the Glade? Had he watched Thomas with this same absolute trust, the same belief that no matter what, Thomas would get it right?  
  
Newt snapped his fingers in front of Thomas’ eyes. “Tommy! Meeting!”  
  
Thomas blinked and shook his head, clearing the painful memories. “Right, yeah. The meeting.”  
  
He frantically sorted through his new memories, scrambling for a meeting, any meeting. With whom? About what? All he had to do was tell them he had the cure, right? Could it really be so simple, after all this time?  
  
Newt rested his hand on Thomas’ shoulder. “You can do it,” he said.  
  
Thomas felt an iron vice close around his throat. Newt had always believed in him. “Yeah,” he mumbled.  
  
“Do you want to practice one more time, just with me?” Newt held out the papers, creased from Thomas’ face.  
  
Thomas took them, letting his eyes focus on the words for the first time. He began to read.  
  
_Esteemed WCKD board members and shareholders,_  
  
_The world is sick. There’s no point denying that anymore. Our leaders are scrambling, and we all know that no infrastructure can undo what has been done. We have only one way to move, and that is forward._  
  
_We at the WCKD laboratories are proud the present to you a series of experiments that we are confident will yield a cure to this devastating virus. I, along with several of my peers, have tested immune to the Flare. There is an enzyme in our brains that protects us from the deterioration. We are the answer._  
  
The words came faster and easier the longer he read. Thomas’ muscle memory took over. He’d been practicing this speech for days.  
  
_We are working tirelessly to isolate this enzyme, which we have called the Hope Anomaly, with the belief that we will soon be able to extract, study, and artificially manufacture it. I have designed a series of virtual tests that have yielded promising results already: we know that the brain manufactures the Hope Anomaly in situations of immense duress. My virtual tests are designed to trigger fight-or-flight instincts in the brain to increase Hope Anomaly creation, but progress is slow. Although we cannot say for sure, I believe the reason is that, intellectually, our subjects still know that the danger is fictitious. They know that they are safe._  
  
Thomas’ heart raced. His horror at the words he read grew with every sentence, but he powered on. He knew if he stopped he would never be able to start again.  
  
_I am here today to propose a new set of Trials. I have already designed extensive blueprints, and I can say with absolute certainty that this is the best, and in fact the only, way to guarantee the discovery of a cure to this virus. I cannot stress enough that the Hope Anomaly is our only chance for the survival of humanity as a species._  
  
_My Trials are simple. We begin by erasing the subjects’ memories. They will have no knowledge of the outside world, the Flare, anything. We will then place them in the Maze, a puzzle designed to trigger all parts of the brain that could possibly contribute to production of the Hope Anomaly. We will monitor their brains closely via the implants that erase their memories. All the subjects’ reactions, their evolutionary instincts, will be one hundred percent genuine, and they will produce the Hope Anomaly much more efficiently than with our virtual tests._  
  
_Construction has already begun, but we need your help to continue and to get the project on its feet. I have personally tested the technology on myself and have found it sound. The Trials are the only way._  
  
_Board members and shareholders, the fate of humanity rests in your hands. I trust you will do the right thing._  
  
Thomas lowered the paper with shaking hands. It was all true. Ben had been right. They had all been right. Not only had Thomas helped WCKD imprison and torture his friends, it had been his idea. He had masterminded the Maze as a whole. Everything that had happened in the last five years was his fault. Thomas looked to Newt, who was smiling proudly.  
  
“Every time you say it, it gets better,” he said. “You’re amazing, Tommy.”  
  
Thomas opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Here, at the beginning of it all, Newt already believed in him. And he couldn’t have been more wrong. How could Thomas have done this? How could he have ever believed this was an option? How had he convinced so many people that the cure was worth their lives? He felt feverish and nauseated. He’d been fighting for so long to destroy the Maze, to destroy WCKD and anyone who supported them. And at the root of the evil, he had found himself.  
  
Thomas knew where he was, at last. He knew why he was being tortured so brutally, why it was he who was forced to watch his friends die. Growing up, he remembered reading books under his covers by flashlight, mythology and fairy tales. He remembered Purgatory, the endless wasteland where lost souls were doomed to wander for eternity, tormented by their unfinished business and their unpaid dues.  
  
This wasn’t a second chance at all. This was Thomas’ Purgatory. He had been sentenced to an infinity of lost hope, reliving the exact torture that he had forced upon so many. Newt had been right all along.  
  
The Maze was not meant to be solved.  
  
“It’s time,” said Newt.  
  
Thomas couldn’t bear to look at him. How could the person he loved so much hurt him so badly? Of course, he knew the answer. Purgatory was torturing him in kind for his sins. And he’d hurt Newt worst of all.  
  
“Are you ready?”  
  
Thomas was ready. He allowed Newt to take his hand and lead him down pristine white hallways until they stopped at a door. A plain, ordinary door, that could have led to anywhere. Thomas prayed it would be the last door he ever walked through.  
  
Newt stopped and turned to face him. “You can do this,” he said. “You’re the best of us, you always have been. I knew it the day we met, when you insisted I stay on as part of the trial even though I wasn’t immune.” He chuckled. “I thought you were going to throw Ava through a window when she tried to tell you I couldn’t stay.” He squeezed Thomas’ hand and continued, “You saved my life a long time ago. Now you get to save the world.”  
  
And he leaned forward and kissed Thomas on the cheek. It was the tiniest, feather-light kiss, but in that brief moment Thomas felt new strength swell in him. He had found the courage to take the final step, as with all previous steps, with Newt’s help.  
  
When Newt pulled away, Thomas looked him in the eyes. “I love you.”  
  
Newt smirked. “I know.” He nodded to the door. “Go save the world.”  
  
…  
  
Thomas stepped into an unassuming room occupied by a long, oval table at which sat ten people. He recognized Ava Paige and Janson, but the rest were strangers. Strangers whom he had once convinced to pour all their resources into building a massive rat trap where nearly all his friends would sacrifice their lives for nothing. Hot rage and shame bubbled in his chest, but Thomas held it back. He was here to atone for his mistakes, not theirs.  
  
Thomas folded his speech and pushed it into his back pocket. He realized he didn’t care if this was real, or if it was all some fever dream, somewhere caught between life and death. If he was doomed to wander the eternal wasteland, he was going to do his damnedest to make it right. Either way, he had come to one final conclusion.  
  
The only life he would ever risk was his own.  
  
Ava Paige met his eyes. She smiled and nodded encouragingly. Thomas didn’t take time to dwell on the concept that this gesture might once have brought him genuine comfort. His hatred for Paige had shriveled and died along with his hope that he might ever escape this purgatory. This was not her fault nearly as much as it was his. He had created the Maze, he had designed the Trials, he had stood before this very room and convinced them that the hundreds of deaths to follow would all be worth it for a cure that, at this very moment, was already in their grasp.  
  
Thomas took a deep breath.  
  
“I have the cure,” he said.  
  
A hushed gasp swept over the room. Paige’s brow furrowed as her eyes bored into Thomas. Had they planned this meeting together? Had they spent hours together, plotting and planning? Had they rehearsed word for word exactly what they would say to the assembled people? Or had Thomas kept her in the dark, driven mad by his vision? Who already knew about the Maze?  
  
It didn’t matter.  
  
“The Hope Anomaly can’t be manufactured,” Thomas continued. “And it can’t be harvested. The immune test subjects are of no use to us.”  
  
Whispers flitted back and forth, disgruntled coughs and startled shared looks. Paige widened her eyes and flared her nostrils at Thomas, but he ignored her.  
  
“My blood is the only cure,” he said. “Combined with the correct serum in the lab, it will reduce Flare symptoms within hours, and return patients to full health in days.”  
  
“How can you possibly know this?” demanded an old man to Thomas’ left. “Experimentation has barely begun.”  
  
“I’ve been playing things pretty close to the chest,” Thomas said. He didn’t have time for their questions. He just needed Mary to test his blood. “Dr. Paige, if you’ll come with me, I have something to show you in the lab.”  
  
After a moment’s deliberation, Paige stood, straightening her pristine white blazer.  
  
“Now, hold on!” said a woman, leaping to her feet. “You’ve shown us WCKD has been keeping secrets from its shareholders. I think we have a right to see this miraculous cure! We’ll _all_ come.”  
  
With a muttering of approval, the rest of the room rose to their feet, resulting in a suspicious, shuffling parade led by Thomas and Paige, through the labyrinthine corridors. Thomas glimpsed young faces peering through windows, noses pressed flat against the glass. Dozens and dozens of eyes watched them pass, more faces than Thomas could recognize. He saw Alby, Minho, Winston, and finally a small child with wild curly hair, no older than nine, who could only have been Chuck.  
  
Thomas wondered if these faces were meant as a reminder of all the people his actions had hurt. They didn’t feel like it this time. He felt invigorated by their presence. They were alive, and if everything went according to his plan, this time they would stay alive. These final witnesses to his funeral procession gave him the strength to take the last steps into the lab where Mary waited.  
  
“Thomas!” she greeted him with a smile before taking in the besuited throng tagging along behind him. “What’s all this?”  
  
“I need you to take a blood sample and combine it with serum two-six-seven,” said Thomas without preamble.  
  
Mary seemed taken aback, but after less than a moment, she bustled around the lab, pulling on rubber gloves and withdrawing a single vial filled with shimmering blue liquid. In the time it had taken her to find the serum, Thomas had seated himself on the table and rolled up his sleeve, ready for a blood draw.  
  
He barely flinched as the needle slid under his skin. Mary mixed the serum and the blood in the centrifuge, filled a pipette with the mixture and dripped it carefully onto a petri dish that could only contain a sample of tissue infected by the Flare. She leaned down to inspect it under a microscope.  
  
The assembled board members seemed to be holding their breath. The room was utterly silent.  
  
“Holy mother of God,” Mary breathed. She looked up at Thomas, agape. “How did you know?”  
  
“It worked?” Janson demanded, speaking for the first time.  
  
Mary nodded. “Thomas’ blood is breaking down the virus. It’s…” tears spilled from her eyes, “it’s a cure.”  
  
A flurry of whispers burst from the board members huddled in the doorway.  
  
“How many infected could you treat with that sample?” Paige asked, stepping forward.  
  
Mary shook her head. “Impossible to say. I’d need an infected test subject first. Two, maybe three. From an ounce of his blood.”  
  
“That’s not enough,” said Thomas. All eyes fell on him. He looked up at Mary. “You have to take it all. Save as many people as you can. It will have to be enough.”  
  
“Thomas!” cried Paige. “You can’t be serious!”  
  
“I’ve done enough damage!” Thomas shouted. “The only life I will risk is my own. Take my blood and save as many people as you can. This ends now.”  
  
He remembered faces pressed against glass, smiling faces, warm lips on his cheek. “I have one condition,” he added. “Save Newt first.”  
  
Mary looked to Paige, who looked to Janson, who nodded curtly. Without a word, he turned and ushered the board members out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him with a final thud.  
  
“Do it,” said Paige, when she, Mary, and Thomas were alone.  
  
“Ava!” cried Mary. “There has to be another way! We can duplicate his blood, we can ration we can-”  
  
“DO IT!” Thomas screamed. He was done, he was finished. He had never been more certain about anything in his life. He had to die, and he had to die now. He had to end it before he trapped himself here for another lifetime.  
  
Mary swallowed a sob as she slid a new needle into Thomas’ arm, attached to an IV. Thomas grabbed her hand before she could pull away.  
  
“Thank you,” he whispered.  
  
Thomas laid back and felt an unprecedented calm settle over him. He would never be quite sure if it was the blood loss, or the knowledge that he had finally corrected his mistakes.  
  
The last thing he heard before slipping into unconsciousness was Newt’s voice, too distant for Thomas to understand the words he was saying.  
  
It’s okay, Thomas thought to himself. If he’d done it right, he’d be with Newt, the real Newt, the Newt he had killed, soon enough. What a story he’d have to tell.


	11. the rest of a lifetime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We made it to the end.
> 
>  
> 
> Or did we?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for sticking with me to the end.

Thomas did not open his eyes. Consciousness crept in a bit at a time, bringing with it birdsong and rustling wind, the smell of something sizzling over a fire. Thomas lay upon a firm but not uncomfortable surface, and he felt a soft blanket on his arms. At last, he opened his eyes.  
  
It was a sick joke. It had to be. How the hell could he be here? How could he have gone through all that agony just end up –  
  
“The Glade?” he said aloud. He heard his voice crack, but he was too damn tired to care anymore.  
  
“That’s not bad, actually,” said a voice. “We haven’t settled on a name yet.”  
  
_How the hell!_  
  
He was still stuck, he was still here. Thomas fought back tears. He’d done everything right, he’d stopped the Maze, he’d saved everyone. _How could he still be here?!_  
  
A weight settled beside him, warm and familiar, but Thomas couldn’t look at the person. He couldn’t be here. They couldn’t be here.  
  
“Tommy?” said the voice, the person who couldn’t possibly be here. “You all right?”  
  
Thomas raised his eyes to meet Newt’s. “How are we here?” Thomas whispered.  
  
Newt laughed. “Well you may be the world’s biggest dumbass,” he said, “but you’re also pretty smart. But you’re a dumbass, and once you’re on your feet I’m going to slap you silly for what you pulled.”  
  
Thomas pushed himself upright, letting the blanket fall from his shoulders. He and Newt sat in one of the ramshackle lean-to’s that dotted the Glade, although it was in much better repair than Thomas had last seen. The wood was clean and fresh, the structure sound. It was new.  
  
“That was pretty ballsy starting to build this place before getting board approval,” said Newt with admiration. “But what the hell were you thinking trying to drain all your blood at once!?”  
  
“Uh…” A wave of dizziness swept over Thomas and he collapsed over his knees, fighting back the urge to vomit. The world spun relentlessly, rolling this way and that.  
  
“Tommy?”  
  
Newt’s hand was on his back, anchoring him. After a few moments, the dizziness passed, and Thomas sat up again. He pressed his hand to his forehead, which suddenly throbbed.  
  
This was real. They were in the Glade. Newt was alive, and all of thirteen years old. Which meant Thomas must be thirteen as well. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to sort through his memories. He’d told the board he had the cure, he’d gone to the lab.  
  
_Take it all._  
  
He’d thought sacrificing himself would break the cycle, but he was still here. In the Glade.  
  
“What happened?” he asked. He needed to fill in the gaps.  
  
“What happened is you’re a dumbass,” said Newt. His voice cracked, betraying the fear behind his anger. “You somehow convinced Ava to take all your blood at once. _Are you serious?_ But I got into the lab before Mary had taken too much and I – well, I lost my shit a little.”  
  
He managed a mirthless laugh. “They took three pints, and they were able to manufacture enough to cure a hundred people! One hundred, Tommy!” When Thomas didn’t speak, Newt continued, “It’s all a bit mad now. Word got out about the cure and we’ve got people swarming from all over the country. Ava and Janson are still trying to build enough space to house them while we wait for more cure. They thought it was safest to keep the rest of us in here until things calm down a bit.”  
  
Newt gestured around the Glade. In the distance, Thomas saw Minho and Alby kicking a ball back and forth. He saw Chuck crouched in the grass, petting a dog. It was all so… _normal._ Safe.  
  
“I did it?” was all he could say.  
  
Newt pressed his forehead to Thomas’. “Yeah, Tommy, you did it.” Pulling away, he added, “And some day you’re gonna tell me what changed your mind so quickly.”  
  
“Quickly?” Thomas laughed. “You’d never believe me if I told you.”  
  
Thomas leaned against Newt and they sat patiently on the mattress, at the beginning of the rest of a lifetime together.

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s note: I really hope you enjoy reading this story. I know we all love these characters, and fiction, fanfiction especially, is a way to share our visions of a different or better world. But in the real world, we can’t go back in time, and we can’t always save people before it’s too late. So many of us have shared Newt’s struggle. We’ve felt lost and alone and trapped. I don’t want to spew clichés at you. I want to say plain and simple that I care about you. I think you’re important, and wonderful, and that the world is better for your existence. Below I’ve listed several resources for mental health support and suicide prevention. And to those of you who haven’t experienced this struggle first hand but know someone who has, all I can tell you is what I needed when I felt this way: sit with your person and make it clear that no matter the circumstances, you will hear them and you will believe them. Sometimes all it takes is another person sitting next to them while they Google counselors in their area, or a funny meme on a crappy day. It’s not your responsibility to fix anyone’s mental illness, but it is in your power to be a good part of their day, and a kind voice in their life. 
> 
>  
> 
> [https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/](url)  
> [http://zerosuicide.sprc.org/](url)  
> [https://www.thetrevorproject.org/](url)  
> [http://www.revelandriot.com/resources/suicide-prevention/](url)


End file.
